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THE 

POETICAL WORKS 

OF 

ROBERT BURNS: 

INCLUDrSG 

sevebai. pieces not es^seeted in dr. cuerie^s 

edition: exhibited under a new 

plan of arrangement. 

AND PRECEDED BY 

A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR: 

WITH 

NOTES, AND A COMPLETE GLOSSARY. 



BOSTON: 

WOOLWORTH, AINSWORTH & CO. 

NEW YORK: A. S. BARNES & CO. 

18 69. 



m. :1l 









ADVERTISEMENT. 



Tab present edition was undertaken by a gentleman vidth 
ibe view of presenting the public with the Poetical Worki 
of Bums more methodically arranged, more copiously il- 
lustrated, and less expensive in the purchase, than nhey 
have yet appeared. 

In comparing it with others, it will be found to possess 
several advantages. 

I. It contains, besides a number of other pieces not in 
serted in Dr. Currie's edition, "The Jolly Beggars," a 
cantata replete with humorous description and discrimi- 
nation of character, and inferior to no poem of the same 
length in the English language. It likewise compre- 
hends " Uoly Willie's Prayer," a piece of satire une- 
qualled for exquisite severity and felicitous delineation, 

II. In the editions hitherto published, no regard is paii 
to method or classification. In this, the poems are dis- 
posed according to their respective subjects, and divided 
into five books. 

in. Most of the poetry of Bums, though possessing an 
energy, a richness, and an ardor, A'hich never fail to strikt 
«nd captivate the mind, yet appears 'jider great disadvan- 



ADVERTISEMENT. 

to the English reader. Much of the fire, whk¥ 
warm*- &ri 'ja/rle^i a native of Scotland, is to him necessa- 
rily io&t oy tne obscurity of the language. To obviate this 
as much as possible, a considerable number of words have 
been added to the Glossary, and several of the old defini- 
tions ha> • tc corrected or enlarged. A new Life, drawn 
up with care and fidelity, has likewise been prefixed. 

Of an edition, thus enlarged and improved, it is unne- 
oessary to say more. Should its utility be acknowledged, 
Iku) editor will con8i<t*iT his exertions sufficiently rew&rd9<L 



CONTENTS. 



A dr«rtUement, S 

Life ot Robert Bums, 17 

Preface to the First Edition, 45 

Dedication to the Second Edition, . . 47 



BOOK I. 

MURAL, RELIGIOUS, AND PRECEPTIVE. 

rheTwaDogs, 51 

The Brigs of Ayr, 59 

rhe Vision, 67 

rhe Cotter's Saturday Night, 77 

Verses written in Friar' s-Carse Hermitage, on Nith- 

Side, '. 85 

A Prayer, under the Pressure of violent Anguish, ... 87 

A Prayer, in the Prospect of Death, 88 

Stanzas, on the same Occasion, 89 

Verses left by the Author at a Reverend Friend's 

House, in the Room where he slept, 90 

A Grace before Dinner, « 91 

The First Psahn, 92 

The First Six Verses of the Ninetieth Psalm, 93 

Epis-^ to a Voung Friend, 91 

I* 



O COPTTENTS. 

BOOK II. 

PATHETIC, ELEGIAC, AND DESCRIPTIVE. 

Paa« 

Man was made to Mourn, 98 

A Winter Night, 101 

Winter, 105 

Despondency, lOfi 

To Ruin, : 108 

Lament of Mary, Queen of Scots, on the Approach of 

Spring, 109 

The Lament, occasioned by the unfortunate Issue of a 

Friend's Amour, 1 1 "3 

t^ament of a Mother for the Djeath of her Son, 1 15 

Lament for James, Earl of Glencairn, 116 

Lines sent to Sir John Whiteford, of AVhiteford, Bart., 

with the foregoing Poem, 119 

Strathallan's Lament, 119 

The Chevalier's Lament, 120 

The Author's Farewell to his Native Country, 121 

Farewell to AjTshire, 122 

The Farewell to the Brethren of St. James's Lodge, 

Tarbolton, 12a 

Farewell to Eliza 125 

Highland Mary 126 

To Mary in Heaven, 127 

Elegy, on the late Miss Burnet, of Monboddo, 1 28 

Verses, on reading, in a Newspaper, the Death of 

John M'Leod, Esq., Brother to a Young Lady, 

a particular Friend of the Author, 129 

Sonnet, on the Death of Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glen 

Riddel, April, 1794, 131 

Verses, on the Death of Sir James Hunter Blair 131 

Address to the Shade of Thomson, on crowning his 

Bust, at Ednam, Boxburghshire, with Bays,. . . 133 
Epitaph for the Author's Father Ui 



CONTENTS. 1 

For R. A., Esq, 13« 

Or « Friend, 13fi 

A Bard's Epitaph 135 

VerseS; on the Birth of a Posthumous Child, born in 

peculiar Circumstances of family Distress, .... 137 
lines, on scaring some Water- Fowl, in liOch-Turit, a 

wild Scene among the Hills of Oughtertyre, ... 138 
Sonnet wTitten on the 25th of January, 1793, the 

Birth-day of the Author, on hearing a Thrush, 

in a Morning Walk 139 

On Sensibility, 140 

To a Mouse, on turning her up in her Nest, with the 

Plough, November, 1785 141 

To a Mountain Daisj^ on turning one down with the 

Plough, in April, 1786, 143 

The humble Petition of Bruar- Water, to the noble 

Duke of Athole, 145 

Verses, on seeing a wounded Hare limp by me, which 

a Fellow had just shot at, 148 

Lines written with a Pencil, over the Chimney-piece, 

in the Parlor of the Inn at Kenmore, Taymouth, 149 
Lines Avritten with a Pencil, standing by the Fall of 

Fyers, near Loch-Ness, 160 



BOOK III. 

FAMILIAR AND EPISTOLARY. 

1 Miss Cruikshanks, a very Young Lady — written 
on the blank Leaf of a Book presented to her 
by the Author, 151 

Verses, on a Young Lady residing on the Banks of the 
small River Devon, in Clackmannanshiie, but 
whose infant Years were spent in Ayrshire, ... 163 



fi COWTExNTS. 

fo Miss L , with Beattie's Poems, as a Nevv-"i ear's 

Gift, January 1, 1787 15* 

Verses to a Young Lady, with a Present of Songs, .... 159 
Verses written on the blank Leaf of a Copy of his 

Poems, presented to a Lady, whom he had 

often celebrated under the Name of Chloris, ... 151 
To a Young Lady, Miss Jessy L , Dtinifries, with 

Books wliich the Bard presented her 155 

Verses written on the blank Leaf of a Copy of his 

Poems, presented to an old Sweetheart, then 

married, 156 

To J. S****, 156 

Epistle to Davie, a brother Poet, 162 

To the Same, 168 

Epistle to J. Lapraik, 170 

To the Same, 174 

To W. S*****n, 178 

Epistle to J. K* *****, enclosing some Poems 185 

To Dr. Blacklock, 188 

To Colonel De Peyster, 190 

Letter to J s T 1 Gl— nc— r 192 

To Mr. Mitchell, 194 

To the Guid^%dfe of Wauchope-House, in Answer to 

an Epistle she had sent the Author, 196 

To J. Ranken, on his writing to the Author that a 

Girl was with Child by him, 198 

Address to an Illegitimate Child, 199 

Ic a Tailor, in Answer to an Epistle which he kad 

sent the Author, 200 

To Mr. William Tytler, with a Portrait of the 

Author, 203 

Epistle to R, Graham, Esq., of Fintra, 204 

To the Same, 207 

To the Same, on receiving a Favor, 218 

Vo a Geatlemjm whom the Author had offended, ... - 21 1 



CONTEWTS. 9 

To a Gei-tlemaii who had sent him a Newspaper, and 

offered to continue it tree of Expense 212 

Sketch, to Mrs. Dunlop, on a New- Year's Day, 213 

The A.uld Farmer's New- Year Morning Salutation to 

his Auld Mare, Maggie, 215 

rhe Death and dj-ing Words of Poor Mailie, the Au- 
thor's only pet Yowe, 219 

Poor Mailie's Elegy, 211 



BOOK IV. 

HUMOROUS) SATIRICAL, EPIGRaMMATICAL, AND 
MISCELLANEOUS. 

fam O'Shanter, 224 

Halloween 2?2 

The Jolly Beggars, 243 

Death and Dr. Hornbook, 257 

A Dream, 264 

Scotch Drink, 269 

The Author's earnest Cry and Prayer to the Scotch 

Representatives in the House of Commons,. . . . 274 

Address to the DeU, 281 

On the late Captain Grose's Peregrinations through 

Scotland, collecting the Antiquities of that 

Kingdom, . .; 285 

Lir.es written in a Wrapper, enclosing a Letter to 

Captain Grose, , . 283 

Ejigram, on Captain Grose, 289 

Lines, on an Interview with Lord Daer, 29G 

The Liventory, 291 

To a Louse, on seeing one on a Lady's Bonnet, at 

Church, 294 

Address to the Tooth- Ache, 296 



10 CONTENTS. 



To a Haggis, • ^^1 

The Holy Fair, W9 

The Ordination, 309 

A-ddress to the Unco Giiid, or Rigidly Right- 
eous, 314 

The Twa If erds, 317 

The Calf, 321 

Holy WiUe's Prayer 323 

Epitaph, on Holy Willie 326 

The Kirk's Alarm, .326 

Letter to John Goudie, Kilmarnock, on the Publica- 
tion of his Essays, 330 

A. Dedication to Ga\'in Hamilton, Esq., 331 

Lines addressed to Mr. John Ranken, 336 

Lines written by Biutis, while on his Death-bed, to 

the Same, 337 

Extempore, at a Meeting of the Dumfriesshire Vol- 
unteers, 337 

Extempore, on the late Mr. William Smellie 338 

To Mr. S**e, on refusing to dine with him, after hav- 
ing been promised the first of Company, and 

the first Cookery, 333 

To Mr. S**e, with a Present of a dozen of Porter,. . . 339 
Extempore, ^vritten in Answer to a Card from an In- 
timate of Burns, inviting him to spend an 

Hour at a Tavern 339 

Extempore, written in a Lady's Pocket-Book, 340 

lines, on Miss J. Scott, of Ayr, 340 

Lin 38 written under the Picture of the celebrated 

Miss Bums, 340 

Tines, on being asked why God had made Miss Davis 

so little, and Miss so large, 341 

lines written and presented to Mrs. Kemble, on see- 
ing her in the Character of Yarico, 341 

Lines written on Windows of the Globe Tavern, 

Dumfries, 84V 



CONTENTS. 1^ 

Paff« 

Tines written on a Window, at the King's- Arms Tav- 
ern, Dumfries, 341 

/L Vei-se present ^i by the Author to the Master of a 
House, at a Place in the Highlands, where he 

had been hospitably entertained, 34 3 

Epigram, on the Neglect of an Inn-keeper, 344 

Epigram, on Elphinstone's Translation of Martied's 

Epigrams, 344 

Versfg written on a "Window of the Inn at Carron,. . . 345 

Epitaph, on a celebrated Ruling Elder, 345 

On a Noisy Polemic, 346 

On Wee Johnny, 346 

For G. H., Esq., 346 

On a Wag In Mauchline, 347 

On John Dove, Inn-keeper, Mauchline, 347 

On Walter S , 348 

On a Hen-pecked Country Squire, 348 

Epigram on said Occasion, 348 

Ano'her 349 

On tne Death of a Lap-dog named Echo, 349 

bnpromptu, on Mrs. 's Birth-day, 350 

Monody, on a Lady famed for her Caprice, 351 

rue Epitaph, 352 

Ode, sacred to the Memory of jNIis. , of . . . . 352 

The Hen-pecked Husband, 354 

Elegy, on the Year 1788, 354 

Tam Samson's Elegy 356 

The Epitaph 359 

Per Contra, 360 

Elegy, on Captain Matthew Henderson, 360 

Tlie Epitaph, 364 

On a Scotch Bard, gone to the West Indies, 365 

On Pastoral Poetry, 367 

Prologue, spoken at the Theatre, Ellisland, oh New- 
Year-Day Evening 369 

Prologue, spoken by Mr. Woods, on his Bencfit-nighi, 371 



12 CONTENTS. 

rUe Rights of "Woman, an Occasional Addre&i spt- 

ken by Miss Fontenelle, on her Benefit-aight, 37J 

A.ddress, spoken by Miss Fontenelle, on her Benefit- 
night, at the Theatre, Dumfries, 374 

Fragment, inscribed to the Right Hon. C. J. Fox 376 

biscription for an Altar to Independence, at Kerrough- 

try, the Seat of Mr. Heron, 378 

A-fidress to Edinburgh, 37* 



BOOK V. 

SONGS AND BALLADS. 

A Vision, 382 

Bannock Burn — Robert Bruce's Address to his Army, 384 

Song of Death, 385 

Imitation of an old Jacobite Song, 386 

The Lass of Inverness 386 

The Absent Warrior, 387 

The Warrior's Return 389 

Lord Gregory, 391 

Open the door to me. Oh ! — with Alterations, 392 

The Entreaty 393 

The Answer, 394 

The Forlorn Lover, 395 

The Dreary Night, 396 

Poortith Cauld, 398 

Clarinda, 398 

Isabella, 399 

Wandering Willie • • • • . 399 

The Parting Kiss, 400 

The Roaring Ocean, 401 

Fair Eliza, 402 

Eliaa, 40a 



CONTE.NTS. \Z 

Pag« 

fhe Braos o' Ballochmyle 40^ 

Gloomy December 404 

Departure of Nancy 405 

My Nanie's Awa, 40C 

Banks o' Doon, 407 

The Disconsolate Lover, 407 

Cragie-Burn, 409 

The Cheerless Soul, 410 

Mary Morison, '. 411 

Fair Jenny, 412 

Address to the Wood-Lark, 413 

Fragment, in Witherspoon's Collection of Scots' 

Songs, '. 414 

Address to a Lady, 416 

The Auld Man, 416 

John Anderson, my Jo, 416 

Auld Lang Syne, 417 

Hopeless Love, 418 

Banks of Nith 419 

Banks of Cree, 420 

Castle Gordon, 420 

Afton Water, 422 

The Sacred Vow 423 

The Rigs o' Barley, 424 

The Lea-Rig, 425 

The Lass of Ballochmyle, 426 

Bonie Lesley, 428 

Bonie Jean, 429 

Dainty Da^'ie 431 

To Jeanie, , 432 

Clouden KjiOAves, . 433 

Lovely Nancy, , 434 

To Chloris . 435 

Lassie wi' the Lintwhite Locks, . . 436 

Chloiis 437 

The Rose- Bud 437 

2 



14 C0^TEJ»^T9 

rhe Birks of Aberfeldy 438 

This is no my ain I^assie, 44( 

Consteaicy, 44 1 

Peggy's Charms, 443 

Jessy, 443 

The ]Jlue-eyed Lassie, 444 

Wilt thou be my Dearie ? 414 

The Blissful Day, 445 

Lovely Jean, 446 

Lucy, 447 

Blithe Phemie, 44? 

Charming Nimnie, 445 

Green grow the Hashes, 45 1 

The Highland Lassie, 452 

Anna, 454 

The Spinning-Whccl, 455 

The Country Lassie, 456 

Tam (xlen, 457 

Somebody 459 

O Whistle, &c., 459 

Ane-and-Twenty, 460 

The Young Lassie 461 

The Mercenary Lover, 462 

Meg o'. the Mill, 463 

My Tocher's the Jewel, 464 

Auld Rob Morris, 464 

To Tibbie 465 

Duncan Gray, 467 

riie Braw Wooer, 468 

VViUie's W^ife 472 

A Peck o' Maut, 47 1 

The Lawin, 472 

Honest Poverty, 473 

The Battle of Sheriff-Muir, 47f 

Contentment 477 

ihe Dumtries Volunteers, 478 



JONTKNTS. 15 

Pago 

Caledonia, 479 

Comin through the Rye, 480 

The A\Tiistle, 481 

lohn Barleycorn, , I8| 

Blmaxjf - m 



LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS 



There is no poet of the present age more aeservedlj 
opular than Bums. Though bom in an humble station 
lin life, he raised himself, by the mere exertions of his 
mind, to the highest pitch of intellectual greatness. The 
originality of his genius, the energy of his language, and 
the richness of his imagination, merited the gratitude as 
v\ eU as the admiration of his countrymen. But his high- 
est efforts, in which the tide of human feeling seemed to 
flow ui deep and exhaustless channels, failed to soften the 
avarice of a mean and selfish aristocracy. Like his native 
and lonely hills, he was subject to every blast, and exposed 
naked and bare to every tempest. He was an elevated 
point, round which the storm clung and gathered ; a prom- 
inent rock, condemned by nature, as it were, to endure the 
buffettings of the surge. Yet his rude splendor remained 
uninjured. Amidst the bitter waters of indigence and 
sorrow, of drudgery and neglect, he produced those beau- 
tiful idylliums which will ever exist for the delight of the 
world ; and which will never be read without an expan- 
Bion of the imderstanding and of the heart. 

Robert Burns was born on the 25th of January, 1759, in 
a cottage near the banks of the Doon, about two miles 
from A}Tr. The chief incidents of his life are related, by 
himself, in a letter to Dr. Moore. In this doctunent, and 
b several p usages of his correspondence, he unfolds thf 



II* LIFE Cf ROBERT BUR?fS. 

vicissitudes of his fortune, and the peculiarities o. Ida 
character, with great strength and cleiirness. Whoerei 
would do jiistice to his memory, must copy his sentiments 
■nd his language. 

" For some months past," says he, "I have ^een ranof 
bling over the country ; but I am now confined with Hoxa.9 
lingering complaints, originatmg, as I take it, in thfi sto- 
mach. To divert my spirits a little in this miserable fog 
of ennui, I have taken a whim to give you a historv nf 
myself. My name has made some little noise in this 
country ; you have done me the honor to interest yourself 
very warmly in my behalf ; and I think a faithful account 
of what character of a man I am, and how I came by that 
character, may perhaps amuse you in an idle moment. I 
will give you an honest narrative ; though I know it will 
be often at my own expense ; for I assure you, sir, I have, 
like Solomon, whose character, except in the trifling affair 
of wisdom, I sometimes think I resemble ; I have, I say, 
like him, • turned ray eyes to behold madness and folly,' and, 
like him, too, frequently ' shaken hands with their intoxi- 
cating friendship.' * * * * After you have perused these 
pages, should you think them trifling and impertinent, I 
only beg leave to tell you, that the poor author wrote 
them \mder some twitching qualms of conscience, arising 
from suspicion that he was doing what he ought not to do : 
« predicament he has more than once been in before. 

*♦ I have not the most distant pretensions to assume that 
character which the pye-coated guardians of escutcheons 
call a gentleman. When at Edinburgh, last winter, I got 
acquainted in the Herald's Office, and, looking through 
that granary of honors, I there foimd almost every name 
in the kingdom ; but for me, 

'My ancient but igno')le blooil 
Has crept through ssccv.ndrels evei since the flood.' 

Oiiles, Purpure, Argent, &c., quite disowned me. 

" My father was of the north of Scotland, the son of i 
Gumcr ^ho rented lands of the txoble Keiths of MarischaL 



LIFE or ROBERT BUPIVS 19 

Mid had the honor of sharing their fate. I do not juvJ lh« 
word honor vdih. any reference to political principles: loya. 
and disloyal I take to be merely relative terms, in that an- 
cient and formidable court, kno^vn in this country by tha 
name of Club law, where the right is always with the 
strongest. But those who dare welcome ruin, and .shako 
hands with infamy, for what they sincerely believe to be 
th3 cause of their God, or their king, are, as Mark Antony 
Bays, in Shakspeare, of Brutus and Cassius, • honorable 
men.' I mention this circumstance, because it threw my 
father on the world at large. 

" After many years' wanderings and sojoumings, hw 
picked up a pretty large quantity of observation and 
experience, to which I am indebted for most of my little 
pretensions to wisdom. I have met with few who under- 
stood men, their manners, and their ways, equal to him ; 
but stubborn, ungainly integrity, and headlong, ur.govern- 
able irascibility, are disqualif}dng circumstances; conse- 
quently, I was born a very poor man's son. For the first 
six or seven years of my life, my father was gardener to a 
worthy gentleman of small estate, in the neighborhood of 
Ayr. Had he continued in that station, 1 must have 
marched off to be one of the little underlings about a 
farm-house ; but it was his dearest wish and prayer to 
have it in his power to keep his children under his own 
eye, till they could discern between good and evil ; so, 
with the assistance of his generous master, my father ven- 
tured on a small farm on his estate. At those years, I was 
by no means a favorite with any body. I was a good deal 
acted for a retentive memory, a stubborn, sturdy something 
in my disposition, and an enthusiastic, idiot piety. I say 
idiot piety, because I was then but a child. Though it cost 
the schoolmaster some thrashings, I made an excellent 
English scholar ; and, by the time I was ten or eleven 
years of age, I was a critic in substantiv >s, verbs, and par- 
ticles. In my infant and boyish days, too 1 owed n; ich to 
«o old womsm who resided in the family, remarkable foi 



80 LIFE or F.OBERT BURNS. 

her ignorance, credulity, and superstition. She had, I 8U|>. 
pose, the largest coll action in the country, of tales and 
Bongs concerning devils, ghosts, fairies, brownies, -snatches, 
warlocks, spunkies, kelpies, elf- candles, dead-lights, -wTaiths, 
apparitions, cantrips, giants, enchanted towers, dragons, and 
other trumpery. This cultivated the latent seeds of poetry ; 
but had so strong an effect on my imagination, that, to this 
hour, in my nocturnal rambles, I sometimes keep a sharp 
look-out in suspicious places ; and though nobody can b« 
more skeptical than I am in such matters, yet it often takes 
an effort of philosophy to shake off tnese idle terrors. The 
earliest composition that I recollect tdKing pleasure in, was 
the Vision of Mirza, and a hymn of Addison's, beginning, 
• How are thy servants blest, Lord ! ' I particularly 
remember one half stanza, which was music to my bojdsh 
ear: — 

' For thougli on dreadful whirls we hung 
High on the broken wave.' 

1 met with these pieces in Mason's English Collection, one. 
of my school books. The two first books I ever read in 
private, and which gave me more pleasure than any two 
books I ever read since, were the Life of Hannibal, and the 
History of Sir William Wallace. Hannibal gave my young 
ideas such a turn, that I used to strut in rapttu-es up and 
down after the recruiting drum and bagpipe, and wish my- 
self tall enough to be a soldier ; while the story of Wallace 
poured a Scottish prejudice into my veins, which will boil 
along there tiU the flood-gates of life shut in eternal rest. 

" Polemical divinity about this time was putting thf 
coimtry half mad ; and I, ambitious of shining in ccrver- 
Bation parties on Simdays, between sermons, at funerals, &c., 
used, a few years afterwards, to puzzle Cah'inism with so 
uiuch heat and indiscretion, that I raised a hue and cry of 
heresy against me, which has not ceased to this hour. 

" My vicmity to A>t was of some advantage to me. My 
dispusition, \»hen not checked by some modificationa 



LIKE OK HOBERT BURNS. 21 

oi spirited pride, was, like our catechism dtfi-tition ol 
mftnitude, * without bounds or limits.' I formed several 
connexions with other younkers who possessed superioi 
advantages, the youngling actors, who were busy in the 
rehearsal of parts in which they were shortly to appear on 
the stage of life, where, alas ! I was destined to drudge 
beliind the scenes. It is not commonly at this green age 
that our gentry have a just sense of the immense distance 
between them and their ragged plaj-fellows. It takes a few 
dashes into the world to give the young great man that 
pioper, decent, unnoticing disregard for the poor, insignifi- 
cant, stupid devils, the mechanics and peasantry around 
him, who were, perhaps, bom in the same village. My 
young superiors never insulted the clouterly appearance 
of my ploughboy carcass,, the two extremes of which were 
often exposed to all the inclemencies of all the seasons. 
They would give me stray volumes of books ; among them, 
even then, I could pick up some observations ; atid one, 
whose heart I am sure not even the Munny Begum scenes 
have tainted, helped me to a little French. Parting with 
these, my young friends and benefactors, as they occasion- 
ally went off for the East or West Indies, was often to me 
a sore affliction ; but I was soon called to more serious 
evils. My father's generous master died ; the farm proved 
a ruinous bargain ; and, to clench the misfortune, we fell 
into the hands of a factor, who sat for the picttire I have 
drawn of one in my tale of Twa Dogs. My father waa 
advanced in life when he married ; I was the eldest of 
seven children ; and he, worn out by early hardships, waa 
unfit for labor. My father's spirit was soon irritated, but 
not easily broken. There was a freedom Ln his lease in 
two years more ; and, to weather these two years, we re- 
trenched our expenses. We lived very poorly ; I was a 
dexterous ploughman, for my age; and the next elJ-est to 
me was a brother (Gilbert) who could drive the plough 
i^ery well, and help me to thrash the corn. A novel writej 
naisht, perhaps, have viewed these scenes with some 



22 LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

faction ; but so did not I ; my indignation yet boU.i ut th« 

recollection of the s 1 factor's insolent, threatening let 

ters, which used to set us all in tears. 

"This kind of life — the cheerless g^oom of a herniit 
with the unceasing moil of a galley slave, brought me to 
my sixteenth year, a little before which period I first com- 
mitted the sin of rh}T2ie. You know our country custom 
of coupling a man and woman together as partners in the 
labors of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn my partner was 
a bewitching creature, a year younger than myself. M3 
scarcity of English denies me the power of doing her jxis- 
tice in that language ; but you know the Scottish idiom - 
she was a bonie, sweet, sonsie lass. In short, she, alto- 
gether unAvittingly to herself, initiated me in that delicious 
passion, which, in spite of acid disappointment, gin-horse 
prudence, and book-worm philosophy, I hold to be the first 
of hximan joys, our dearest blessing here below ! How she 
caught the contagion I cannot tell : you medical people 
talk much of infection from breathing the same air, the 
touch, &c. ; but I never expressly said I loved her. Indeed, 
I did not know myself why I liked so much to loiter 
behind -svith her, when returning in the evening from oui 
labors ; why the tones of her voice made my heart-strings 
thrill like an -^olian harp ; and particularly why my pulse 
beat such a furious ratan when I looked and fingered over 
her little hand to pick out the cruel nettle-stings and this- 
tles. Among her other love-inspiring qualities, she sung 
sweetly ; and it was her favorite reel to which I attempted 
giving an embodied veliicle in rhjine. I was not so pre- 
sumptuous as to imagine that I could make verses like 
printed ones, composed by men who had Greek and Latin ; 
but my girl sung a song which was said to be composed 
by a small country laird's son^ on one of his father's maids 
with whom he was in love ; and I saw no reason why I 
might not rhyme as well as he; for, exceptir^g that he could 
•mear sheep and cast peats, his father living in the mooT» 
Uuids, he had no moie schohrcraft than myself. 



LIFE OF ROBERT BURxNS. 23 

'* Thus with me began love and poetry, -vAhjfch at time* 
to>»«Te been my only, and till within the last twelve monthi 
l.ave been my highest, enjoyment. My father struggled 
on till he reached the freedom in his lease, when he entered 
on a larger farm about ten miles further in the country 
The nature of the bargain he made was such as to thro"W 
a little ready money into his hands at the commencement 
of his lease, otherwise the affair would have been imprac 
ticable. For four years we lived comfortably here ; but h 
difference commencing between him and his landlord as to 
terms, after three years' tossing and whirling in the vortex 
of litigation, my father was just saved from the horrors of 
a jail by a consumption, which, after two years' promises, 
kindly stepped in, and carried him away to 'where the 
wicked cease from troubling, and the. weary are at rest.' 

" It is during the time that we lived on this farm, that 
ray Kttle story is most eventful. I was, at the beginning 
of this period, perhaps, the most ungainly, awkward boy 
in the parish — no solitaire \va.s less acquainted with the 
ways of the world. What I knew of ancient story was 
gathered from Salmon's and Guthrie's geographical gram- 
mars ; and the ideas I had formed of modern manners, of 
literature, and criticism, I got from the Spectator. These, 
with Pope's works, some plays of Shakspeare, Tell and 
Dickson on Agricultiire, The Pantheon, Locke's Essay on 
the Human Understanding, Stackhouse's History of the 
Bible, Justice's British Gardener's Directory, Bayle's Lec- 
tures, Allan Ramsay's works, Taylor's Scripture Doctrine 
of Original Sin, A select Collection of English Songs, and 
Hervey's Meditations, had formed the whole of my read* 
ing. The collection of songs was my vade mecum. 1 poied 
wver them, driving my cart, or walking to labor, song by 
Bong, verse by verse ; carefully noting the true tender, oi 
sublime, from affectation and fustian. I am convinced I 
owe to this practice much of my critic-craft, such as it is. 

•• In my seventeenth year, to give my manners a brushy 
[ went to a coimtry dancing-schooL My father had an 



84 LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

cmaccountable antipathy against these meetings an i m-j 
going was, what to this moment I repent, in opposition to 
his -wishes. My father, as I said before, was subject to 
Btrong passions ; from that instance of disobedience in me 
he took a sort of dislike to me, which I believe was one 
cause of the dissipation which marked my succeeding 
years. I say dissipation, comparatively with the strict- 
ness, and sobriety, and regularity, of Presbyterian country 
life ; for though the Will o' Wisp meteors of thoughtless 
wliim were almost the sole lights of my path, yet early 
ingrained piety and virtue kept me for several years after- 
wards within the line of innocence. The great misfortune 
of my life was to want an aim. I had felt early some stir- 
rings of ambition, but they were the blind gropings of 
Homer's Cyclops roxuad the walls of his cave. I saw my 
father's situation entailed upon me perpetual labor. The 
only two openings by which I could enter the temple of 
Fortune, was the gate of niggardly economy, or the path 
of little chicaning bargain-making. The first is so con- 
tracted an apperture, I never co^Ad squeeze myself into it ; 
the last I always hated — there was contamination in the 
very entrance ! Thus abandoned of aim or view in life, 
with a strong appetite for sociability, as well from native 
hilarity, as from a pride of observation and remark ; a con- 
stitutional melancholy, or hypochondriasm, that made me 
fly to solitude ; add to these incentives to social life, my 
reputation for bookish knowledge, a certain wild logical 
talent, and a strength of thought something like the rudi- 
ments of good sense ; sind it will not seem surprising that 
I was generally a welcome guest where I visited, or any 
great wonder that, always where two or three met togethei 
there was 1 a^iong them. 

" But far beyond all other impulses of my heart was un 
penchaitt a V adorable moitie de genre humain. My heart 
was completely tinder, and was eternally lighted up bj 
lom B goddess or other ; a::d, as in every other warfare in 
iJiis world, my fort\;ne was various ; sow etiraes I was r*- 



LIFE OF ROBERT BURWS. 25 

eeived with favor, and sometimes I was mortified wth a 
repulse. At the plough, scythe, or reap-hook, I feared no 
competitor, and thus I set absolute want at defiance ; and 
as I never cai-ed farther for my labors than while I waa 
in actual exercise, I spent the evenings in the way aftei 
my own heart. A country lad seldom carries on a love 
adventure without an assisting confidant. I possessed » 
cuiiosity, zeal, and intrepid dexterity, that recommended 
me as a proper second on these occasions ; and", I dan 
say, I felt as much pleasure in being in the secret of haU 
the 10T3S of the parish of Tarbolton, as ever did statesmer 
in knowing the intrigues of half the courts of Europe 
The very goose-feather in my hand seems to know instinc- 
tively the well-worn path of my imagination, the favorite 
theme of my song ; and is with difficulty restrained from 
giving you a couple of paragraphs on the love adventurer 
of my compeers, the humble inmates of the farm-housp 
and cottage ; but the grave sons of science, ambition, or 
avarice, baptize these things by the name of Follies. To 
the sons and daughters of labor and poverty, they are mat- 
ters of the most serious nature ; to them, the ardent hope, 
the stolen interview, the tender farewell, are the greatest 
and mcst delicious parts of their enjoyments. 

"Another circumstance in my life, which made some 
alteration in my mind and manners, was, that I spent ray 
nineteenth summer on a smuggling coast, a good distance 
from home, at a noted school, to learn mensuration, sur 
veying, dialling, &c., in which I made a pretty good pro- 
gress. But I made a greater progress in the knowledge 
of mankind. The contraband trade was at that time very 
successful, and it sometimes happened to me to fall is 
with those who carried it on. Scenes of swaggering riot 
and roaring dissipation were till this time new to me ; but 
I was no enemy to s. " ial life. Here, though I learnt to 
fill my glass, and to mix without fear in a drunken squab- 
ble, yet I went on with a tiigh hand with my geometry. 
till tlie SUB entered Virgo, a month which is alw lys a 
3 



86 LIFE OF ROBERT BJR?(9. 

carnival in my bosom, when a charming filetie, who hved 
next door to the school, overset my trigonometry, and set 
me off at a tangent from the sphere of my studies. I, 
bowever, struggled on with my sines and cosines for a fe"w 
days more ; but, stepping into the garden one charming 
aoon to take the sun's altitude, there I met my angel. 

* Like Proserpine gathering flowers, 
Herself a fairer flower.' 

It was in vain to think of doing any more good at schooL 
The remaining -week I staid, I did nothing but craze the 
faculties of my soul about her, or steal out to meet her ; 
and, the two last nights of my stay in the country, had 
sleep been a mortal sin, the image of this modest and Lii 
nocent girl had kept me guiltless. 

" I returned home very considerably improved. My 
reading was enlarged with the very important addition 
of Thomson's and Shenstone's works; I had seen human 
nature in a new phasis; and I engaged several of my 
Bchool-fellows to keep up a literary correspondence with 
me. This improved me in composition. I had met with 
a collection of letters by the wits of Queen Anne's reign, 
and I pored over them most devoutly : I kept copies of 
any of my own letters that pleased me ; and a comparison 
between them and the compositions of most of my corre- 
spondents flattered my vanity I carried this whim so far, 
that though I had not three farthings' worth of business 
ui the world, yet almost every post brought me as many 
letters as if I had been a broad plodding son of a day- 
book and ledger. 

"My Hfe floweC on much in the same course till ray 
twenty- third year. Vive I' amour, et vive la bagatelle^ 
were my sole principles of action. The addition of two 
more authors to my Hbrary gave me great pleasure : Sterne 
and M'Kenzie — Tristram Shandy and the Man of Feel- 
ing — were my bosom favorites. Poesy was stiH a darling 
•ralk for my mind ; but it \\?>a only indulged in accordinn 



LIFE OF ROBfcRT BLRVS. 4,* 

uo' the hunor of the hour. I had usually half a dozen o^ 
more pieces on hand ; I took up one or other, as it suited 
the momentar)' tone of the mind, and dismissed the work 
as it bordered on fatigue. My passions, when once lighted 
up, raged like so many devils, till they got vent in rhyme ; 
and then the conning over my verses, like a spell, sootherj 
all into quiet ! None of the rhymes of those days are La 
print except Winter, a dirge, the eldest of my prirted 
pieces ; the Death of poor Mailie ; John Barleycorn ; the 
Bongs, first, second, and third. Song second was the ebul- 
lition of that passion which ended the fore-mentioned 
school business. 

"My twenty-third year was to me an important era. 
Partly through whim, and partly that I wished to set 
about doing something in life, I joined a flax-dresser in 
a neighboring town (Irvine) to learn his trade. This was 
an unlucky afl'air. My * * * * ; and, to finish the whole, 
as we were giving a welcome carousal to the new year, 
the shop took fire, and burnt to ashes; and I was left, 
like a true poet, not worth a sixpence. 

" I was obliged to give up this scheme ; the clouds ol 
misfortune were gathering thick . round my father's head, 
and what was worst of all, he was visibly far gone in a 
consumption; and, to croAvn my distresses, a belle Jille, 
whom I adored, and who had pledged her soul to meet 
me in matrimony, jilted me with peculiar circumstancea 
of mortification. The finishing evil that brought up the 
rear of this infernal file, was mj- constitutional melancholy, 
being increased to such a degree, that for three months I 
was in a state of mind scarcely' to be envied by the hope- 
less wretches who have got their mittimus — ♦ Depart from 
me, ye accursed ! ' 

"From this adventure I learned something of a towii 
ife ; but the principal thing which gave my mind a turn, 
was a Mendsliip I had foi-med with a young fellow, a very 
noble character, but a hapless son of misfortune. He w"i 
the son ol a simple mechanic; but a great man ix) th» 



ZO LIFE OF ROBERT EL'R?CS. 

fteighbofhood taking liim under his patronage, gavt uht 
a genteel education, with a view of bettering his situation 
in life. The patron dying just as he was ready to launch 
out into the world, the poor fellow, in despair, went to sea ; 
where, after a variety of good and ill fortune, a little before 
I was acquainted "with him, he had been set on shore by 
an American privateer, on the wild coast of Connaught, 
stripped of every thing. I caimot qixit this poor feUow'B 
atory without adding, that he is at this time master of a 
large West-Indiaman belonging to the Thames. 

" His mind was fraught with independence, magnanim- 
ity, and every manly virtue. I loved and admired him to 
a degree of enthusiasm, and of course strove to imitate 
him. In some measure I succeeded : I had pride before, 
but he taught it to flow in proper channels. His knowl- 
edge of the world was vastly superior to mine, and I was 
all attention to learn. He was the only man I ever saw 
who was a greater fool than myself, where woman was 
the presiding star ; but he spoke of illicit love with the 
levity of a sailor, which hitherto I had regarded with hor- 
ror. Here his friendship did me mischief; and the con- 
sequence was, that soon . after I resumed the plough, 1 
wrote The Poet's Welcome.* My reading only increased, 
while in this town, by two stray volumes of Pamela, and 
one of Ferdinand Count Fathom, which gave me some idea 
of novels. Rhyme, except some religious pieces that are 
in print, I had given up; but meeting with Ferguson's 
Scottish Poems, I strimg anew my wildly-sounding hTe 
with emulatmg vigor. When my father died, his all went 
among the hell-hounds that prowl in the kennel of jus- 
tice ! but we made a shift to collect a little money in the 
family amongst us, with which, to keep tis together, my 
brother and I took a neighboring farm. My brother want- 
ed my hair-brained imagination, as well as my social and 



This piece, we bslieve, was ailei-warda entitled Address U aa ill» 
riunato Child. 



LIFE CF ROBERT BDR>8. '^£» 

iniorois madness; but in good sense, and every sobei 
qualifitjation, he was far my superior. 

•• I entered on the farm with a full resolution, * Come, 
go to, I will be wise ! ' I read farming books ; I calculated 
crops ; I attended markets ; and, in short, in spite of • tha 
devil, and the -world, and the flesh,' I believe I shotdd 
have been a wise man ; but, the first year, from unfortu- 
nately buying bad seed, the second, from a late harvest, 
we lost half our crops. This overset all my wisdom, and 
I returned, ' like the dog to his vomit, and the sow that 
was washed, to her wallowing in the mire.' 

" I now began to be known in the neighborhood as a 
maker of rhymes. The first of my poetic offspring that 
saw the light was a burlesque lamentation on a quarrel 
between two reverend Calvinists, both of them dramatU 
personcB in my Holy Fair. I had a notion myself that the 
piece had some merit ; but to prevent the worst, I gave a 
copy to a friend who was very fond of such things, and 
told him that I could not guess who was the author of it, 
but that I thought it pretty clever. With a certain de- 
scription of the clergy, as well as laity, it met with a roar 
of applause. Holy Willie's Prayer next made its appear- 
ance, and alarmed the kirk-session so much, that they held 
several meetings to look over their spiritual artillery, if 
haply any of it might be pointed against profane rhymers. 
Unluckily for me, my wanderings led me, on another side, 
(v-ithin point-blank shot of their heaviest metal. This is 
the unfortunate story that gave rise to my printed poem^ 
The Lament. This was a most melancholy affair, which 1 
cannot yet bear to reflect on, and had nearly given me one 
or two of the principal qualifications for a place among 
those who have lost the chart, and mistaken the reckoning 
of rauonality.* I gave up my part of the farm to my 



* Tliis disiraclionof mind aro'^c from the misery ami sorrow in which 
te iiwolved Jean Armour, afterwards Mrs Burns. She was i grea 
fc^oxiie oi lier father. Tlie niimalion of a marriage was ihe arsl suj} 

3* 



30 LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 

brothei ; in ti-uth it was only nominally mine and madj 
what little preparation was in my power for Jamaica, liui, 
before leaA'ing my native country for ever, I resolved to 
publish my poems. I weighed my pn/ductions as impar- 
tially as was in my power : I thought they had merit ; and 
it was a delicious idea, that I should be called a clever fel- 
low, even though it should never reach my ears — a pooi 
aegro-driver, or perhaps a victim to that inhospitable clime, 
Bnd gone to the world of spirits ! I can truly say, that 
paurre inconnu as I then was, I had pretty nearly as high 
an idea of myself and of my works, as I have at this mo- 
ment, when the public has decided in their favor. It was 
my opinion, that the mistakes and blunders, both in a ra 
tional and religious point of view, of which we see thou 
sands daily guilty, are owing to their ignorance of them- 
selves. To know myself, has been all along my constant 
Htudy. I weighed myself alone ; I balanced myself with 
others ; I watched every means of information, to see how 
much ground I occupied as a man and as a poet ; 1 studied 
assiduously nature's design in my fonnation — where tht 
Lights and shades in my character were intended. I was 
pretty confident my poems would meet with some ap- 
plause ; but, at the worst, the roar of the Atlantic would 
deafen the voice of censure, and the novelty of West Indian 
scenes make me forget neglect. I threw oif six htuidred 
copies, of which I had got subscriptions for about three 
hundred and fifty. My vanity was highly gratified by th< 



g^cstion he received of her real situation. He was in the greatest ii» 
tress, and fainted away. Tlie marriage diu not appear to him to mak* 
iLe matter bettor. He exp-essed a wish that the agreement be'ween 
them should be cancelled This was communicated to Burns. He felt 
the deepest anguish of mind. He offered lo slay at home, and provide 
^r his wife and family by every exertion in his power. Even this win 
lot approved of ; and huml)le as Jean Armour's station was, :uid great 
ihough her imprudeno*^ bad been, she was still thought, by her [)ariia. 
lATentB, to look forwajd to a more advantageous connexion Ihaii tlu«i 
■»i^c>i now presiiiiod iistU. 



Llt'E OF ROBKRT BUR]WS 'h 

recef tion I met Avith from the public ; and besides, I pock- 
eted, all expenses deducted, nearly 1 vventy pounds. This 
sum came very seasonably, as I was tliinking of indenting 
myself, for want of money, to procure my passage. As 
soon as I was master of nine guineas, the price of wafting 
me to the torrid zone, I took a steerage passage in the firel 
ship that was to sail from the Clyde, for 

' Hungry ruin had me in the wind.' 

" I had been for some days skulking from covert to cov- 
ert, under all the terrors of a jail ; as some ill-advised peo 
pie had uncoupled the merciless pack of the law at my 
heels.* I had taken the last farewell of my few friends, 
my chest was on the road to Greenock ; I had composed 
the last song I should ever measure in Caledonia. The 
gloomy night is gathering fast, — when a letter from Dr. 
Blacklock, to a friend of mine, overthrew all my schemes^ 
by opening new prospects to my poetic ambition. The 
doctor belonged to a set of critics, for whose applause 1 
had not dared to hope. His opinion, that I would meet 
rtdth encouragement in Edinburgh, for a second edition, 
fired me so much, that away I posted for that city, without 
a single acquaintance, or a single letter of introduction. 
The baneful star that had so long shed its blasting influ- 
ence in my zenith, for once made a revolution to the nadir ; 
and a kind Providence placed me under the patronage of 
one of the noblest of men, the earl of Glencairn. Oubiii 
moiy Grand Bieu, si jamais je V oiiblie ! 

«• I need relate no farther. At Edinburgh I was irv a 
new world ; I mingled among many classes of men, bul 
all of them new to me, and I was all attention to ' catch 
the characters and ♦ the manners living as they rise. 
WTiether I have profited, time will show." 



• This was to oblige him to find security for the main .eiiaiice ui hn 
»wu -children, whom he was not permitted '.o Ugitip^ale by s maine^t* 
?-.'Jl tiicir mother 



',S2 LIFE OF ROBERT BLRNS. 

His reception from men of letters, in general, was dal 
lering. Dr. Robertson, Dr. Blair, Dr. Gregory, Mr. Stew- 
art, Mr. Makenzie, and Mr. Frazer Tytler, perceived ano 
acknowledged his talents. He was an acceptable guest in 
the gayest and most elevated circles, and received from 
female beauty and elegance, those attentions above all oth- 
ers most grateful to him. Among men of rank and fashion, 
he was particularly distinguished by James, earl cf Glen- 
caim, who introduced him to the notice and the convivial 
Bociety of the Caledonian Hunt. But while he was invited 
into the company of men of virtue and taste, he was also 
seduced, by pressing solicitations, into the fellowship of 
fchose whose habits, without being extremely gross, were 
yet too licentious and dissolute. The festive indulgences 
which he enjoyed among them, gradually deprived him of 
his relish for the temperate and austere virtues. But what- 
ever influence this change produced on his conduct and 
morals, his understanding suffered no correspondent debase- 
ment. He estimated his new friends and associates at their 
proper value ; and manifested great discrimination in ap- 
preciating the character of those who imagined themselves 
men of the first order in the walks of literature and 
fashion. 

" There are few of the sore evils under the sun," he ob- 
serves, *' give me more uneasiness and chagrin, than the 
comparison how a man of genius, nay, of avowed worth, 
is received every where, with the reception which a mere 
ordinary character, decorated with the trappings and futile 
iisT;inct..ons of fortune, meets. I imagiiie a man of abili- 
ties, his breast glowing with honest pride, conscious that 
men are born equal, still giving ♦ honor to whom honor is 
due ; ' he meets, at a great man's table, a Squire Something, 
or a Sir Somebody ; he knows the noble landlord, at heart, 
gives the bard, or whatever he is, a share of his gooa 
wishes, beyond, perhaps, any one at the table ; yet hov/ 
will it mortify him to see a fellow, whose abilities would 
»oa-ce-y have made an eight-penny tailor, and whnsc heart 



LIFE OF ROBEliT BURNS 39 

Ui not voith three t'.irthii gs, meet with atti^ntLm and no- 
tice, tliat are withheld from the son of genius and poverty ! 

** The noble Glencairn has wounded me to the soul liere, 
because I dearly esteem, respect and love him. He showed 
BO much attention — engrossing attention — one day, to tlie 
only blockhead at table, (the whole company consisted of 
his lordship, dundfrpate, and myself,) that I was witliin 
half a point of throwing dowai my gage of contemptuoufi 
defiance ; but he shook my hand, and looked so l)enevo- 
lently good at parting, — God bless him ! though I should 
never see him more, I shall love him until my dying day ' 
I am pleased to think I am so capable of the throes o* 
gratitude, as I am miserably deficient in some other 
virtues. 

*' With Dr. Blair I am more at my ease. I never respect 
him with humble veneration ; but when he kindly interests 
himself in my welfare, or still more, when he descends 
from his pinnacle, and meets me on equal ground in con- 
versation, my heart overflows with what is called liking 
WTien he neglects me for the mere carcass of greatness, ot 
when his eye measm-es the difference of our points of ele- 
vation, I say to myself, with scarcely any emotion, what 
do I care for him or his pomp either ? 

" It is not easy forming an exact judgment of any one ; 
but, in my opinion. Dr. Blair is merely an astonishiu| 
proof of what industry and application can do. Natvira. 
parts like his are frequently to be met with ; his vanity is 
proverbially known among his acquaintance; but he is 
'justly at the head of what may be called fine writing ; and 
tt critic of the first, the very first, rank in prose : even in 
poetry, a bard of nature's making can only take the pat 
of him. He has a heart, not of the very finest water, but 
far from being an ordinary one. In short, he is truly a 
worthy and most respectable character." 

The respect and sympathy of Burns dwelc with keenci 
emotion a^ad more intense interest on the fate of Ferguson, 
thin on the intercr arse w> v'h he held with persons of dis 



34 LIFE OF ROBF.RT BIRVS. 

tin.itioa. On the 6th of February, 1787, hi) ach.rosstd t 
letter to the bailies of Canongate, Edinburgh, requesting 
permission to erect a monument to his memory. " Gentle- 
men," said he, " I am sorry to be told that" the remains of 
Robert Ferguson, the so justly celebrated poet, a man 
whose talents, for ages to come, ^vill do honor to our Cale- 
donian name, lie in your church-yard, among the ignobl » 
dead, unnoticed and unkno\\Ti. Some memorial, to dirwt 
the steps of the lovers of Scottish song, when they wish 
to slied a tear over the narroAV house of the bard who is 
no more, is surely a tribute due to Ferguson's memory — a 
tribute I ^\'ish to have the honor of paying. I petition you, 
then, gentlemen, to permit me to lay a simple stone over 
his revered ashes, to remain imalien?ble property to his 
deathless fame." 

Burns, in consequence of this application, obtained leave 
to gratify his desire.* The inscription of the stone is as 
follows : — 



• A correspondeai of Burns, in alluduig to this transaction, expressei 
himself in this inamier : " So you have obtained liberty from the nia(^i» 
irates to erect a stone over Ferguson's grave? I do Jiol doubt it; such 
things have been, as Shakspeare says, ' in the olden time ; ' 

'The poet's fate is here in emblem shown, 
He asked for bread, and he received a stone.' 

It is, I believe, upon poor Butler's tomb that this is viTiiten. But how 
tnaay poor brothers of Parnassus, as well as poor Butler and poor Fer- 
guson, have asked for bread, and been served with the same sauce! 

"The magistrates gave you liberty did they? O, generous magi*, 
nates! ******, celebrated over the three kingdoms for his public «pim, 
fives a poor poet liberty to raise a tomb to a poor poet's memory I Most 
generous ! •*****, once upon a time, gave that same poet the nngliiv 
sum of eighteen pence for a copy of his works. But then it must ba 
considered that the poet was at this time absolutely starving, and be- 
lougiit his aid with all the earnestness of hunger; and over and abovt 
tte received a ******»*j worth at least one-third of the value, in 
exchange, out which, I believe, the poet afterwards very ungt ilefulll 
expunged." 



LIFK OF ROBERT BURNS. 35 

HSRE LIES ROBERT FERGUSON, POBT. 

■om Sepiemb*"- 5ih, 1751 — Died lOih October, 1774. 

No sculptur 1 marble here, nor pompous lay, 
" No storied urn, nor animated bust ; " 

This simple stone directs pale Scotia's way 
To pour her sorrows o'er her Poet's dust. 

On the other side of the stone is as follows : — 

"3/ special grant of the managers to Robert Burns, who erected tbtri 
isone, this burial place 's to remain for ever sacred to the memory o, 
Rcben Ferguson." 

Shortly after pajing this mark of respect to the ashes 
of a kindred genius, he acquired, by the new edition of 
his poems, a sum of money more than sufficient for hia 
present exigencies. He therefore determined to gratify a 
desire he had long entertained, of visiting some of the 
most interesting districts of his native country. For this 
purpose, he left Edinburgh on the sixth of May ; and in 
the course of his journey was hospitably received at the 
houses of several gentlemen of worth and learning. Aftei 
proceeding up the Tweed, through the counties of Rox- 
burgh and Selkirk; penetrating into England as far as 
Newcastle ; and crossing the island to Carlisle, he returned 
through Anan and Dumfries to AjTshire, after an absence 
of six months. 

It will easily be conceived with what pleasure and pride 
he was received by his mother, his brothers and sisters. 
He had left them poor, and comparatively friendless ; he 
returned to them high in public estimation and easy in his 
circumstances. He returned to them, unchanged in liis 
aident affections, and ready to share with them, to the 
uttermost farthing, the pittance that fortune had be- 
stowed. 

Having remained rith them a few days, he proceeded 
Bgain to Edinburgh, and immediately set out on a tour to 
the higlilands. From this journey he returned to his rela- 
tions in his native country, renewing his friendships and 
txtending his acquaintance. 



t6 LIFE OF ROBERT IJURNS. 

•In August, he made another vis?.t to Edinburgh, whenv?« 
ae ti avelled in company with Mr. Adair, through Linlith- 
gow, Can-on, Stirling, the vale of Devon, and Harvieston. 
In a visit to Mi-s. Bruce, of Clackmanan, a lady above 
ninety, tlie lineal descendant of that race which gave the 
Scottish throne its brightest ornament, his feelings were 
fx>werfully interested. Though almost deprived of speech 
oy a paralytic affection, she preserved her hospitality and 
urbanity. She was in possession of the helmet and two- 
handed sword of her great ancestor, with which she con- 
ferred on her two visiters the honor of knighthood, remark- 
ing, that she had a better right to conier that title than 
Bome people. 

At DunfcrmKne they visited the ruined abbey, and the 
abbey-church, now consecrated to Presbyterian worship. 
Here Mr. Adau- mounted the cutty-stool, or stool of repen- 
tance, assuming the character of a penitent for fornication, 
while Burns, from the pulpit, addressed to him a ludicrous 
reproof and exhortation, parodied from that which had 
been delivered to himself in AjTshire, where he had once 
been one of seven who mounted the seat of shame to- 
g:ether. 

In the church-yard, two broad fiag-stones marked the 
grave of Robert Bruce, for whose memory Bums had a 
more than common veneration, lie knelt and kissed the 
stone with sacred fervor, and heartily (suns ut mos erut) 
execrated the worse than Gotliic neglect of the first of 
Scottish heroes. He afterwards returned, with ^Ir. Adair 
to Edinburgh by Kinross, (on the shore of Lochievea, ) and 
Queen's ferry. • 

These journeys, however, did not satisfy the euriositr 
of Burns. About the beginning of September, he again 
Bet out from the metropolis, on a more extended tour to 
the highlands, in company with Mr. Nicol, assistant teacher 
in the high scLool. After passing throxjgh the heart of 
that ruountainou » division of their native country, thej 
•Q etched uorthw ards about ten miles beyon^] Inverness. 



LIFT OF ROBERT BURNS. 37 

TTicre they bent their course eastward, across the is.and^ 
and returned by the shore of the German sea, to Edin- 
burgh. In the course of this journe}', they visited a num- 
ber of remarkable scenes ; and the imagination of Burns 
was constantly excited by the wild and sublime 9cenf ry 
through which he passed. 

Having settled with his publisher, in February, 1788, he 
found himself master of nearly five hundred pounds, aftei 
discharging all his expenses. To his brother Gilbert, who 
had taken upon him the support of their aged mother, and 
was struggling with many difficulties in the farm of Moss- 
giel, he immediately advanced two hundred pounds. With 
the remainder he resolved on settling himself for life in the 
occupation of agricidture, and took the farm of Ellisland, 
on the banks of the Nith, six miles above Dumfries, on 
which he entered at Whitstmday. 

When he had in this manner arranged his plans for 
futurity, his generous heart turned to the object of his at- 
tachment ; and, listening to no considerations but those of 
honor and affection, he led her to the altar, and joined 
with her in a public declaration of marriage. His notice 
of this event, to Mrs. Dunlop, is truly honorable to his 
feelings. " WTien Jean found herself," says he, " as wo- 
men wish to be who love their lords, as I loved her nearly 
to distraction, we took steps for a private marriage. Her 
parents got the hint, and not only forbade me her company 
and the house, but on my rumored West Indian voyage, 
got a warrant to put me in jail tiE I should find security 
in my about -to-be paternal relation. You know my lucky 
reverse of fortune. On my eclatant retoim to Mauchline, 
I was made very welcome to visit my girl. The usUfU 
consequences,Jbeg€in to betray her ; and, as I was at that 
time xdid up a cripple in Edinburgh, she was turned — lit- 
erally tumod out of doors ; and I wrote to a friend to shel- 
ter her till my return, when oxir marriage was declared. 

HeK happiness or misery was in my hands ; AND WH« 
COULD TRIPLE WITH SUCH A DEPOSXTB ? " 

4 



^8 LIFE OF ROBERT BUBNS. 

He now engaged in rebuilding the dweLing-h'r»^'» o« 
his farm, which, in the state he found it, was iaadeouate 
to the accommodation of his family. On this ^-ccasion, h« 
resumed at times the occupation of a laboier, and found 
neither his strength nor his skill impaired. Pleased >vifh 
Burveying the grounds he was about to cui;,i". ate, and wich 
rearing a habitation that n.ight give iiiioLtt to his wife an/* 
cliildren, and, as he fondly hoped, to Ida own gray hairs 
sentiments of independence buoyea up his mind; picturm 
of domestic content and peace lose on his imaginatior : 
and a few days passed away, tho most tran\juil, and pei 
haps the happiest he had ever bAporienced. 

His industry, however, was li equently intcirupted bj 
visiting his family in AjTshirc , and, as the distance waf 
too great for a single day's joaxney, he generally spent a 
night at an inn on the road. On such occasions, he some- 
times fell into company, and was drawn into irregular and 
intemperate habits. His appointment in the excise, which 
was completed in autumn, 1^89, likewise obstructed his 
agricultural pursuits. He wab unable to reconcile the busi- 
ness of the two occupations. His farm was in a great 
measure abandoned to his seivants, while he was engaged 
in performing his official duties. He might be seen, now 
and then, in the spring, directing his plough, a lal or in 
which he excelled ; or with a white sheet, containiiig his 
seed-corn, slung across his shoulders, striding with meas- 
ured steps along his tumed-up furrows, and scattering the 
grain in the earth. But his farm no longer occupied the 
principal part of his thoughts. It was not at Ellisland 
that he was now in general to be found. Mounted on 
Horseback, this high-minded poet was pursuing the default- 
ers of the revenue, among the hills and vales of Nithsdale, 
tiis roving eye wandering over the charms of nature, and 
muttering hi? way-ward fancies as he moved along. 

Besides his duties in the excise, other circumstances in- 
terfered with his attention to his farm. He engaged in th« 
formation and management of a society for purchasing and 



LIFE OF ROBERT BURX9. 3T« 

sirculatin^ books among the farmers of his neighborhood, 
and occasii.iiolly occupied himself in composing songs foi 
the musical work of Mr. Johnson, then Ln the course of 
pubhcation. These engagements, though useful and hon 
orable, necessarily contributed to the abstraction of his 
though s, and the neglect of his rural affairs. 

The consequences may easily be imagined. Notwith- 
standing the prudence and good management of Mrs. 
Bum», he found it necessary, after the exi)iration of tlire« 
years and a half, to relinquish his lease. His emplojTnent 
in the excise originally produced fifty pounds per annum. 
He was now appointed to a new district, the emolvimenta 
of which rose to about seventy. Hoping to support him- 
self and his family on this humble income, till promotion 
should reach hirai, he removed to a small house in Dum- 
fries, about the end of the year 1791. 

His great celebrity made him an object of interest and 
curiosity to strangers, and few persons passed through 
Dumfries without an attempt to see him, and to enjoy 
the pleasure of his conversation. As he could not receive 
them conveniently at home, these interviews passed at the 
inns of the town, and often terminated in convivial ex- 
cesses. Among the inhabitants, also, there were never 
wanting persons to lead or accompany him to the tavern ; 
to applaud the sallies of his wit ; and to witness at once 
the strength and the degradation of his genius. 

In the four years that he lived in Dumfries, he produced 
many of his beautiful lyrics ; and cheerfully consented to 
give his aid to a collection of original Scottish afrs and 
verses, projected by George Thomson, of Edinburgh. Dii- 
ririg this time, he made several exctu-sions into the neigh- 
boring country. In one of these he passed through Glen- 
denwjTies, a beautiful situation on the banks of the Dee, 
in company with Mr. Syrae, and reached Kcnmore, whew 
they remained thi-ee days at the seat of Mr. Gordon. On 
leaving Kerunore for Gatehouse, they took the moor-road, 
n nere every ttnng presenied a vnid ana desolate aspect 



40 LIFE OF ROBERT BURxVS. 

The sky app.'ared to sympathise with the drciriness of ta# 
loil. It became loAvering and dark. Gleams of sheeteJ 
lightning were folloAved by the a^^'ful rolling of thunder 
Burns spoke not a word, but seemed wrapped in medita- 
tion. In a little while the rj^in began to fall ; and, for threa 
hours, it poured in torrents on the waste. In the midai 
of this storm, though drenched as it were by the embattled 
elements, he remained absorbed in thought, wholly inat- 
tentive to the descending floods. He was equally regard- 
less of every thing around him during his ride home from 
St. Mary's isle ; and his companion did not venture to dis- 
turb him. Next day he produced the celebrated martial 
hymn, entitled Hobert Bruce's Address to his Army, a 
hymn unparalleled in the annals of modem poetry, and 
equal to the happiest efforts of the greatest geniuses of 
antiquity. 

Bums had entertained hopes of promotion in the excise ; 
but circumstances occurred which prevented their fulfil- 
ment. The events of the French revolution, which inter- 
ested the feelings of every thinking mind, were com- 
mented on by Biims in a maimer very different from what 
might have been expected from an officer under govern- 
ment. Information of his sentiments were gjven to the 
board of excise ; an inquiry was instituted into his con- 
duct ; and, after being reprimanded, he was suffered rx» 
retain his situation. 

This circumstance made a deep impression on his mind 
Fame exaggerated his misfortune, and represented him as 
actually dismissed from his office ; and this report induced 
gentlemen of much respectability to propose a subscription 
in his favor. But he refused the offer with great elevation 
of sentiment, and nobly defended himself against the im- 
putation of having made submission, for the sake of im 
office, unworthy of his character. 

"The partiality of my countrymen," he observes, "has 
brought me forward as a man of genius, and has given me 
A cliaraeter to support. In the poet I have avowed manJjf 



LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS. 4! 

»nd independent sentiments, which I hope hdve oeuu 
found in the man. Reasons of no less weight than the 
support of a wife and children, have pointed my present 
occupation as the only eligible line of life within my reach. 
Still my honest fame is my dearest concern, and a thou- 
sand times have I trembled at the idea of the degradinji 
epithets that malice or misrepresentation may affix to my 
name. Often, in blasting anticipation, have I listened to 
some future hackney scribbler, with the heavy malice of 
savage stupidity, exultingly asserting, that Burns, notwith- 
standing the fanfaronade, of independence to be found it* 
his works, and after being held up to public view, and to 
public estimation, as a man of some genius, yet, quite des- 
titute of resources within himself to support his borrowed 
dignity, dwindled into a paltry exciseman, and slunk out 
the rest of his insignificant existence in the meanest of 
pursuits, and among the lowest of mankind. 

" In your illustrious hands, sir, permit me to lodge my 
strong disavowal and defiance of such slanderous falsehoods. 
Burns was a poor man from his birth, and an exciseman 
by necessity ; but — i will say it ! — the steiu^ino of 
his honest worth, poverty could not debase, and hi* 
independent british spirit, oppression miout bend, but 
oould not subdue." 

It was one of the last acts of his life to copy this heart- 
rending letter into a book which he kept for the piirpose 
of recording such circumstances as he thought worthy ot 
preservation. Upwards of a year before his death, there 
*va8 an evident decline in his personal appearance ; and 
though his appetite continued unimpaired, he was himself 
jensible that his constitution was sinking. From October, 
1795, to the January following, an accidental complaint 
confined hun to the house. A few days after he began to 
go abroad, he dined at a tavern, and returned home about 
three o'clock in a very cold morning, benumbed and intox- 
icated. This was followed Dy an attack of rhexunatisnit 
which corfined him about a week. His appetite began to 
4* 



la LIFE OF ROBERT BUKXS. 

fail, his Hand shook, and his voice faltered on any exc/tio* 
or emotion ; his pulse became weaker and more rapid, and 
pain ui the larger joints, and in the hands and feet, de- 
prived him of sleep. In the month of June, 1796, ho re- 
moved to BroAv, in Annandale, about ten miles from l">uin- 
fries, to try the effects of sea-bathing. Here he was invited 
to dinner by a lady in the neighborhood ; and, as he w aa 
iinable to walk, she sent her carriage for him to the cottage 
where he lodged. As he entered her apartment, the stamp 
of death seemed imprinted on his features. He appeared 
already touching the brink of eternity. His first saluta- 
tion was, ♦' Well, madam, have you any commands for the 
other world ? " He ate little, and complained of having 
entirely lost the tone of his stomach. He spoke of his 
death without any -of the ostentation of philosophy, but 
with firmness and feeling, as an event likely to hajjpen 
very soon. His anxiety for his family hung heavy upon 
him ; and when he alluded to their approaching desolation, 
Ills heart was touched with pure and unmingled sorrow. 

At first he imagined that bathing in the sea had been 
of benefit to him ; the pains in his limbs were relieved ; 
but this was immediately followed by a new attack of 
fever. When brought back to his own house in Dumfries, 
on the 18th of July, he was no longer able to stand up- 
right. A tremor pervaded his frame ; his tongue waa 
parched, and his mind fell into a delirivmi, when not 
roTised by conversation. On the second and third day 
the fever increased, and his strength diminished. On tho 
fourth, the sufferings of this great, but ill-fated, goniiis 
were terminated ; and a life was closed, which had been 
embittered by suffering, and insulted by ujimerited cal» 
umny. 

^Vhen his death was known, it excited a deep and 
moumfvu sensation. It was felt as a loss which no earthly 
power could replace ; as the extinction of a prodigy whose 
appearance was rare and uncertain. He was lamented, 
not merely like a comn.on individual, by friends and r^igb- 



LiM!" OF KOBKRT Ht'K.'VS. -A.! 

bors, but by a whole countrj', whose pleasures he had an 
exclusive capacity to auerment. 

lie left a widoAv and four sons. The ceiemonial of his 
mtemient was accompanied with military honors, not onl^ 
by the corps of Dumfries volunteers, of wliich he was a 
member, but by the Fencible infantry, and a regiment of 
Cinque Port cavalry then quartered in Dumfries. On the 
same day, by a coincidence singularly touching, Mrs. 
Bums was deh'vered of a son, who did not long survive 
his father. 

Bums was nearly five feet ten inches in height, and of 
a form that indicated agility as well as strength. His 
well-raised forehead, shaded with black, curling hair, ex- 
pressed uncommon capacity. His eyes were large, dai'k, 
full of ardor, and animation. His face was well-formed, 
and his countenance strikingly interesting. 

Of his general behavior, every one spoke in the highest 
terms. It usually bespoke a mind conscious of superior 
talents, not however unmixed with the affections which 
beget familiarity and affability. His conversation was 
extremely fascinating ; rich in wit, humor, whim, and 
occasionally in serious and apposite reflection. No man 
had a quicker apprehension of right and wrong, or a 
stronger sense of what was ridiculous and mean. Neither 
chicanery nor sordidness ever appeared in his conduct 
Even in the midst of distress, while his feeling heart sunk 
under the secret consciousness of indigence, and the appre- 
hensions of absolute want, he bore himself loftily to the 
world. He died in the utmost penury, but not in debt ; 
and left behind him a name which will be remembered as 
long as departed worth and goodness are esteemed among 
men. 

After contemplating the melancholy story of his life, it 
is impossible not to heave a sigh at the asperity of his 
foirune, while we reprobate the conduct of those who drew 
&im from the simplicity of humble life, and left bim a prej 
to anxietv and .vant. to sorrow and desrair. 



tl MFK or XOBCRT BCTaKV. 

Of his poems, which have been so often printed and M 
eagerly read, it is luinecessary to enter into a critical ex- 
amination. AH readers of taste and sensibility assign hica 
the first place among the poets of his country ; and ac- 
knowledge the presence of that " light trom heaven " whici 
909aocz9tj» and eternizes every monument of genius. 



PREFACE 

TO THE FIRST EDITION. 



lEB following trifles are not the production of the pod 

w ho, w ith all the advantages uf learned art, and perhapi 
fcmid the elegances and idleness of upper life, looks dowB 
for a rural theme, -with an eye to ITieocritus or Virgil. 
To the author of this, these and other celebrated names, 
their countrymen, are, at least in their original language, 
a fountain shut up, and a book sealed Unacquainted with 
the necessary requisites for commencing poetry by rule, 
he sings the sentiments and manners he felt and saw in 
himself, and his rustic compeers around him, in his and 
their native language. Though a rhymer from his earliest 
years, at least from the earliest imptilses of the softer pas- 
sions, it was not till very lately that the applause, perhaps 
the partiality of friendship, wakened his vanity so far as 
to -make him think any thing of his worth showing ; and 
none of the following works were composed with a vie\v 
to the press. To amuse himself vi'ith the little crrjations 
of his own fancy, amid the tcdl and fatigues of a laborious 
life ; to transcribe the various feelings, the loves, the griefs, 
the hopes, the fears, in his own breast ; to find some ku\^ 
of counterpoise to the struggles of a world, always an alien 
scene, a task uncouth to the poetical mind, — tnese were 
his motives for courting the muses, and in these he found 
Poetry to be its own reward. 
Now that he ajipcars in the public character o£ an au 



4f» PREFACE. 

thor (le does it "with fear and trembling. ' So dear \m 
fame to the rhyming tribe, that even he, an obscure, namp- 
less bard, shrinks aghast at the thought of being brand- 
ed as an impertinent blockhead, obtruding his nonsense 
on the world ; and, because he can make a shift to jmgle 
a few doggerel Scotch rhj-mes together, looking upon him 
Belf as a poet of no small consequence, forsooth. 

It is an observation of thai celebrated poet, Shenstone, 
whose divine elegies do honor to our language, our nation, 
.tnd our species, that " Humility has depressed many a 
genius to a hermit, but never raised one to fame ! " If 
any critic catches at the word genius, the author tells him, 
once for all, that he certainly looks upon himself as pos- 
sessed of some poetic abilities, otherwise liis publishing in 
the manner he has done, would be a manoeuvre below the 
worst character which, he hopes, his worst enemy will 
ever give him. But to the genius of a Ramsay, or the 
glorious dawnings of the poor, unfortunate Ferguson, he, 
with equal unaffected sincerity, declares, that, even in his 
highest pulse of vanity, he has not the most distant pre- 
tensions. These two justly- admired Scotch poets he has 
often had in his eye in the following pieces ; but ra.thei 
with a view to kindle at their flame, than for servile imi- 
tation. 

To his subscribers, the author returns his most sincere 
thanks, — not the mercenary bow over a counter, but the 
heart-throbbing gratitude of the bard, conscious how much 
he owes to benevolence and friendship, for gratifying him, 
if he deserves it, in that dearest wish of every poetic bos- 
om-to be distinguished. He begs his readers, particu- 
larl) the learned and the polite, who may honor him with 
a perusal, that they will make every allowance for educa- 
^nn and circumstances of life ; but, if, after a fair, candid, 
and impartial criticism, he shall stand convicted of dull- 
ness and nonsense, let him be done by as he would in that 
case do by others ; — let him be condenmed, without mercy 
to c»mtenpt and oblivion. 



DEDICATION 

TO THE SECOND EDITION 



rO rHB NOBLEMEN A.ND GENTLEMEN OP TUE CALEDONIA* 
HUNT. 

My Lords and Gentlemen : — 

A Scottish bard, proud of the name, and whose highest 
ambition is to sing in his country's service — where shall 
he so properly look for patronage, as to the illustrious 
names of his native land ; those who bear the honors and 
inherit the virtues of their ancestors ? The poetic genius 
of my country found me, as the prophetic bard, Elijah, did 
Elisha — at the plough ; and threw her inspiring mantle 
over me. She bade me sing the loves, the joys, the rural 
scenes, and rural pleasures, of my native soil, in my native 
tongue ; I tuned my wild, artless notes, as she inspired. 
She whispered me to come to this ancient metropolis ot 
Caledonia, and lay my songs xmder your honored protec- 
tion. 

Though much indebted to your goodness, I do not ap- 
proach ycu, my Lords and Gentlemen, in the usual style 
of dedication, to thank you for past favors. That path is 
Bo hackneyed by prostituted learning, that honest rusticity 
is ashamed of it. Nor do I present this address with tlw 
venal sotd of a servnle author, looking for a continuation 
of those favors : I Avas bred to the plough, and am inde- 
pendent. I come to claim the common Scottish name with 
yjix, niy illustrious countr^Tnen ; and to tell the world thai 



if. DELlCATIorr. 

I glory in the title. I come to congratulate my country 
that the blood of her ancient heroes still runs uncontumi- 
nated ; and that from your courage, knowledge, and pub- 
li'- spirit, she may expect protection, wealth, and liberty, 
in tl .9 last place, I come to proffer my warmest wishes to 
the great Fountain of honor, the Monarch of the Universe, 
for yoiir welfare and happiness. When you go forth to 
waken the echoes, in the ancient and favorite amusement 
of your forefathers, may Pleasure ever be of your party, 
and may social Joy await your return ! When harassed 
in courts or camps with the jostlings of bad men and bad 
measures, may the honest consciousness of injured worth 
attend yotir retiirn to your native seats ; and may domestic 
Happiness, with a smiiling welcome, meet you at your 
gates ! May corruption shrink at your kindling, indignant 
glance ; and may tj-ranny in the ruler, and licenti^usnes* 
In the people, equally find you an inexorable foe ! 
I have the honor to be. 
With the sincerest gratitude, 
And highest respect, 

My Lords and Gentlemen, 

Your most d-rc^ted, humble servant, 

ROBERT BURNS. 
tSdinbnrgb, I 
Afril *, 1787. ( 



BURNS'S POEMS. 



POEMS, 

CHIEFLY SCOTTISH. 

BOOK I. 

MORAL, RELIGIOUS, AND PRECEPTIVX 

TBE TWA DOGS 

i TALK. 

TwAS in that place o' Scotland's isle, 
That bears the name o' Auld King Coil, 
Upon a bonny day in June, 
When wearing thro' the afternoon, 
Twa dogs that were na thrang at hame, 
Forgathered ance upon a time. 

The first I'll name, they ca'd him CsBsar, 
Was keepit for his Honor's pleasure ; 
His hair, his size, his mouth, his lugs, 
Show'd he was nane o' Scotland's doga ; 
But whalpit some place far abroad, 
Where sailors gang to fish for cod. 

His locked, letter'd braw brass collar, 
Show'd him the gentleman and scholar; 



52 BUKNS's POEMS 

But tho ,ie was o'.high degree, 
Tlie fie ill a pride nae pride had he; 
But wad hae spent an hour caressin*, 
Ev'n wi' a tinker-gipsey's niessin : . 
At kirk or market, mill or smiddie, 
Nae tauted tyke, tho' e'er sae duddie, 
But he wad staii't, as glad to see him, 
And stroan't on stanes an' hillocks wi' hui 

The tither was a ploughman's collie, 
A rhyming, ranting, raving billie, 
Wha for his friend an' comrade had him, 
And in his freaks had Liiath ca'd him. 
After some dog in Highland sang,* 
Was made lang syne — Lord knows how lann 

>^e was a gash an' faithful tyke. 
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke, 
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face, 
Ay gat him friends in ilka place. 
His breast was w hite, his touzie back 
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black ; 
«His gawcie tail, wi' upward curl, 
Hung o'er his hurdies wi' a swirl. 

Nae doubt but they were fain o' tlier. 
An' unco pack an' thick thegither ; 
Wi social nose whyles snuff'd and snowkit, 
Whyles mice and moudieworts they howkit , 
Whyles scour'd awa in lang excursion, 
An' worfy'd ither in diversion ; 
Until wi' daffin weary grown. 
Upon a knowe they sat them down, 

• OuUiulUu's dog \u Ossiaii's Fingal. 



BUR.NS'S POEM3. 53 



And there began a lang- digression 
Ab mt the Lords o' the Creation. 



I've aften wondered, honest Luath, 
What sort o' life poor dogs like you have 
An' when tlie gentry's life I sa v, 
What way poor bodies liv'd ava'. 

Our Laird gets m his racked rents, 
His coals, his kain, and a' his stents: 
fie rises when he likes hirnsel' ; 
His flunkies answer at the bell ; 
He ca's his coach, he ca's his horse ; 
He draws a bonie silken purse 
As lang's my tail, where, thro' the steeks, 
The yellow-letter'd Geordie keeks. 

Frae morn to e'en it's nought but toiling, 
At baking, roasting, frying, boiling ; 
An' tho' the gentry Hrst are stechin. 
Yet e'en the ha' folk till their pechin 
Wi' sauce, ragouts, and sic like trashtrie, 
That's little short o' downright wastrie. 
Our Whipper-in, wee blastit wonner, 
Poor worthless elf, it eats a dinner, 
Better than ony tenant man 
His Honor has in a' the Ian'; 
An what poor cot-folk pit their painch :n, 
I own its j)ast my comprehension. 



Trowth, Cff!sar, whyles they're fasht enough 
A cotter kowkin in a sheugn, 
Wi dirty stancs begin a dyke, 
5* 



M BURJVS'S POEMS 

Boring a quarry, and sic like. 

Himsel, a wife, he thus sustains, 

A smytrie o' wee duddie weans, 

An' nought but his hand darg, to keep 

Them right and tight in thack an' rape. 

As when they meet with sair disasters, 
Like loss o' health, or want o' masters. 
Ye maist wad think, a wee touch langer, 
An' they maun starve o' cauld an' hungei 
But, how it comes, I never kenn'd yet, 
They're maistly wonderfu' contented; 
An' buirdly chiels, and clever hizzies. 
Are bred in sic a way as this \s. 

C^SAR. 

But then to see how ye're negleckit, 
How hufF'd, and cuff'd, and disrespeckil 
L — d, man, our gentry care as little 
For delvers, ditchers, an' sic cattle ; 
They gang as saucy by poor folk, 
A I wad by a stinking brock. 

I've noticed, on our Laird's court-day, 
An' mony a time my heart's been wae^ 
Poor tenant bodies, scant o' cash, 
How they maun thole a factor's snash: 
He'll stamp and threaten, curse and sweat 
He'll apprehend them, poind their gear; 
While they maun stan', wi' aspect humble, 
An' hear it a', an' fear, an' tremble ! 

I see how folks live that «ae riches ; 
But eurely poor folk maun be wretches ! 



BURNS'S POEMS. M 



LUATH. 

They're nae sae wretched's ane wad think 
Tho' constantly on poortith's brink : 
They're sae accustom'd wi' the sight, 
The view o't gies them little fright. 

Then chance and fortune are sae guided, 
They're ay in less or mair provided ; 
An', tho' fatigu'd with close employment, 
A blink o' rest's a sweet enjoyment 

The dearest comfort o' their lives. 
Their grushie weans an' faithfu' wives ; 
The prattling things are just their pride, 
That sweetens a' their fire-side. 

An' whyles twalpennie worth o' nappy 
Can make the bodies unco happy; 
They lay aside their private cares, 
To mind the kirk and state affairs ; 
They'll talk o' patronage and priests, 
Wi' kindling fury in their breasts, 
Or tell what new taxation's comin', 
An' ferlie at the folk in Lon'on. 

As bleak-faced Hallowmas returns, 
They get the jovial, ranting kirns. 
When rural life, o' every station, 
Unite in common recreation: 
Love blinks. Wit slaps, and social Mirth 
Forgets there's Car« upo' the earth. 

That merry day the year begins, 
Thev bar the door on frosty winds; 



56 BURNS'S P0F.M3. 

The nappy reoks, wi' mantling reain, 
An' sheds a heart-inspiring steam ; 
The luntin pipe, an' sneeshin mill. 
Are handed round wi' right gude will; 
The cantie auld folks crackin crouse, 
The young r^nes ranting thro' the house 
My heart las been sae fain to see their 
That I for joy hae barkit wi' them. 

Still it's owre true that ye hae said, 
Sic game is now owre aflen played. 
There's monie a creditable stock 
O' decent, honest fawsont folk. 
Are riven out, baith root and branch, 
Some rascal's pridfu' greed to quencii 
Wha thinks to knit himsel the fastei 
In favor wi' some gentle Master, 
Wha, aiblins, thrang a-parliamentin, 
For Britain's guid his saul indentin 

c;esar. 

Haith, lad, ye little ken about it. 
For Britain's guid ! guid faith ! I doubt 
Say, rather, gaun as Premiers lead him, 
An' saying aye or no 's they bid hira : 
At operas an' plays parading ; 
Mortgaging, gambling, masquerading, 
Or, may be, in a frolic daft, 
To Hague or Calais takes a waft* 
To make a tour, an' tak a whirl. 
To learn hon ton an' see the worl' 

There, at Vienna or Versailles, 
lie rives his father's auld entrails ,- 
Or by Aladrid he takes the rout 



BURNS S POEMS. 

To thrum guitars, and fecht wj' nowl; 
Or down Italian vista startles, 
Wh-ro-hunting among groves o' myrtle* 
Then bouses drunibly German water 
To mak himsel look fa.r and fatter, 
An' clear the consequential sorrows, 
I^ve-gitls of Carnival signoras. 
For Britain's guid ! for her destruction 
Wi' dissipation, feud, an' faction. 

LUATU. 

Hech man ! dear sirs ! is that the gate 
They waste sae mony a braw estate ? 
Are we sae fonghten an' harass'd 
For gear to gang that gate at last ? 

O, would they stay aback frae courts, 
An' please themselves wi' countra sports, 
It wad for every ane be better, 
The Laird, the Tenant, an' the Cotter! 
For thae frank, rantin, ramblin billies, 
Fient haet o' them's ill-hearted fellows 1 
Except for breakin o' their timmer, 
Or speakin lightly o' theii limmer, 
Or shootin o' a hare or moor-cock, 
The ne'er a bit they're ill to poor folkv 

But will you tell me. Master CsBsai, 
Sure great folk's life's a life o' pleasure ? 
Nae cauld or hunger e'er can steer them, 
The vera thought o't need na fear them. 



L— d, man, were ye but whyles whare 1 
The gentles ye wad ne'er envy 'em. 



H BURNS'S POEMS. 

It's true, they need nae starve ^t sweaf. 
Thro' winter's cauld or simmer's heat : 
They've nae sair wark to craze their b»ttJM 
An' fill auld age vvi' grips an' granea : 
But human bodies are sic fools, 
For a' tiieir colleges and schools, 
That when nae real ills perplex them. 
They make enow themsels to vex them, 
An' ay the less they hae to sturt them, 
In like proportion less will hurt them. 
A country-fellow at the pleugh, 
His acres till'n, he's right eneugh ; 
A country girl at her wheel, 
Her dizzon's done, she's unco weel : 
But Gentlemen, and Ladies warst, 
Wi' ev'n down want o' wark are curst 
They loiter, lounging, lank, and lazy; 
Tho' deil haet ails them, yet uneasy ; 
Their days insipid, dull, an' tasteless ; 
Their nights unquiet, lang, and restless . 
An' e'en their sports, their balls, an' races, 
Their galloping thro' public places. 
There's sic parade, sic pomp, an' art. 
The joy can scarcely r^ach the heart 
The men cast out in party matches, 
Then sowther a' in deep debauches ; 
Ae night they're mad wi' drink an' wh-ring 
Niest day their life is past enduring. 
The ladies, arm-in-arm in clusters, 
As great and gracious a' as sisters ; 
But hear their absent thoughts o' ither. 
They're a' run deils an' jades thegitherl 
Whyles o'er the wee bit cup an' platie, 
They sip the scandal potion pretty ; 
Or lee-lang nights, wi' crabbit louka. 



Bf RNS S POEMS. 

Pore owre the devil's pictur'd beuks , 
Stake en a chance a farmer's stackyard, 
An' cheat like ony unhang'd blackguard. 

There's some exception, man an' woman, 
But this is gentry's life in common. 

By this, the sun was out o' sight, 
An' darker gloaming brought the night. 
The bum-clock humm'd wi' lazy drone ; 
The kye stood routin i' the loan ; 
When up they gat, and shook their lugs, 
Rejoiced they were nae //len, but dogs; 
An' each took aff his several way. 
Resolved to meet some ither day. 



THE BRIGS OF AYR 

A POEM. 

Inscribed to J. J5*********, Ejq., Jiyr 

The simple Bard, rough at the rustic plough, 

Learning his tuneful trade from every bough ; 

The chanting linnet, or the mellow thrush. 

Hailing the setting sun, sweet, in the green thorn boflfa 

The soaring lark, the perching red-breast shrill, 

Or deep-ton'd plovers, gray, wild-whistling o'er the Aili 

Shall he, nurst in the peasant's lowly shed, 

To hardy independence bravely bred, 

By early poverty to hardship steel'd. 

And train'd to arras in stern Misfortiine's field 



50 BURNS'S POEMS 

Shall .le be guilty of their hireling crimes. 
The servile, mercenary Swiss of rhymes.' 
Or labor hard the panegyric close, 
With all the venal soul of dedicating prose? 
No! though his artless strains he rudely sings. 
And throwi his hand uncouthly o'er the stringa. 
He glows with all the spirit of the Bard, 
Fame, honest fame, his great, his dear reward ! 
Still, if some patron's gen'rous care he trace, 
Skill'd in the secret to bestow with grace ; 
When B********* befriends his humble name, 
And hands the rustic stranger up to fame, 
With heart-felt throes his grateful bosom swells. 
The godlike bliss, to give, alone excels. 



'Twas when the stacks get on their winter-hap 
And thack and rape secure the toil-worn crap ; 
Potato-bings are snugged up frae skaith 
Of coming Winter's biting, frosty breath ; 
The bees, rejoicing o'er their summer toils, 
Unnumber'd buds an' flowers' delicious spoils, 
Seal'd up, with frugal care, in massive waxen pueai 
Are doom'd by man, that tyrant o'er the weak, 
The death o' devils smoor'd wi' brimstone reek ; 
The thundering guns are heard on ev'ry side, 
The wounded coveys, reeling, scatter wide 
The feather'd field-mates, bound by nature's tie, 
Sires, mothers, children, in one carnage lie: 
(What warm, poetic heart, but inly bleeds. 
And execrates man's savage, ruthless deeds!) 
Nae mair the flow'r in field or meadow springs; 
Nae mair the grove with airy concert rings, 
Kx^ept, perhaps, the robin's whistling glee, 
Proud o' the height o' sonie bit half-land tree 



BUR.-VS S P(JEMS. 01 

riie hoary morns precede the sunny days, 

Mild, cahn, serene;, wide spreads tlie noontide blaa*, 

While thick the gf>ssaniour waves wanton in \hii r&yi 

Twas in that season, when a simple bard, 

Unknown and poor — simplicity's reward ; 

Ae nignt, within the ancient burgh of Ayr, 

By whim inspir'd, or haply press'd wi' care; 

He left his bed, and took his wayward route, 

And down by Simpson's* wheel'd the left about: 

(Whether impell'd by all-directing Fate, 

To witness what I after shall narrate ; 

Or whether, rapt in meditation high. 

He wandered out, he knew not where nor why ;) 

The drowsy Dungeon-clockf had number'd two, 

\nd Wallace Tow'rf had sworn the fact was true: 

The tide-swoln Firth, with sullen-sounding roar. 

Through the still night dash'd hoarse along the shore 

All else was hush'd as nature's closed e'e ; 

The silent moon shone high o'er tow'r and tree: 

The chilly frost, beneath the silver beam. 

Crept, gently-crusting, o'er the glittering stream — 

When lo ! on either hand the list'ning bard, 
The clanging sugh of whistling winds he heard ; 
Two dusky forms dart thro' the midnight air, 
Swift as the GosJ drives on the wheeling hare ; 
Ane on th Auld Brig his airy shipe uproars, 
The ither flutters o'er the rising piers 
Our warlock rhymer instantly descry'd 
The Sprites that owre the Brigs of Ayr preside 
(That bards are second-sighted is nae joke. 
And ken the lingo o' the sp'ritual folk ; 



• A noted tavern at the Aiild Brig end. t The two steeples | Tkt 
fosiiawk, I r faicoii. 



82 BURNS'S POEMS. 

Fays, Spunkies, Kelpies, a', they can explain them. 

And ev'n the. vera deils they brawly ken them.) 

Auld Brig appear'd of ancient Pictish race. 

The vera wrinkles Gothic in his face : 

He seem'd as he wi' Time had warstl'd lang, 

Yet teughly doure, he bade an .unco bang. 

New Brig was buskit in a braw new coat, 

That he, at London, frae ane Adams, got; 

(n's hand five taper staves as smooth's a bead, 

Wi' virls an' whirlygigums at the head. 

The Goih was stalking round with anxious search, 

Spying the time- worn flaws in ev'ry arch; 

h chanc'd his new-come neebour took his e'e. 

And e'en a vexM and angry heart had he ! 

Wi' thieveless sneer to see his modish mien, 

Ke, down the water, gives him this guid e'en : - 

ADLD BRIG. 

1 doubt na, frien', ye'll ihink ye're nae sheep-shank 
A.nce ye were streekit o'er from bank to bank ! 
But gin ye be a brig as auld as me, 
Tho' faith, that day I doubt ye'll never see; 
There'll be, if that date come, I'll wad a boddle. 
Some fewer whigmeleeries in your noddle 

NEW BRIG. 

Auld Vandal, ye but show your little mense, 
Just much about it wi' your scanty sense; 
Will your poor, narrow foot-path of a street, 
Where twa wheelbarrows tremble when they meet. 
Your ruin'd, formless bulk o' stane an' lime, 
Comnare wi' bonie Brigs o' modern time ? 
There's men o' taste would take tlie Duckat stream.* 



▲ noted ford just above the Auid Brig. 



RURNS'S POEMS. 6h 

rho' they should cast the very sark and swim, 
Ere they would grate their feelings wi' the view 
O' sic an ugly, Gothic hulk as you. 

AULD BRIG. 

Conceited gowk ! puff'd up wi' windy pride . 
This mony a year TVe stood the flood an' tide ; 
An' tho' wi' crazy cild I'm sair forfairn, 
I'll be a Brig, when ye're a shapeless cairn ! 
As yet ye little ken about the matter. 
But twa-three winters will inform you better. 
When heavy, dark, continu'd a'-day rains, 
Wi' deep'ning deluges o'erflow the plains ; 
When from the hills where springs the brawling Omj 
Or stately Lugar's mossy fountains boil. 
Or where the Greenock winds his moorland course 
Or haunted Garpal* draws his feeble source, 
Arous'd by blust'ring winds an' spotting thowes. 
In many a torrent down his sna'broo rowes. 
While crashing ice, borne on the roaring speat, 
Sweeps dams, an' mills, an' brigs, a' to the gate , 
And from Glenbuck,t down to the Ratton-key,|: 
Auld Ayr is just one lengthen'd, tumbling sea ; 
Then do^m ye'll hurl — deil nor ye never rise ! 
And dash the gumlie jaups up to the pouring skies 
A lesson sadly teaching, to your cost. 
That ArcJiitecture's noble art is lost I 

NEW BRIG. 

Pine Architecture! trowth, I needs must say't o 
The L — d be thankit that we've tint the gate o't ! 

* The banks of Garpal Waier is one of the few places in Ihe We«l 
»f ScoUand, where those fancy-scaring beings, knov\Ti by the nan e o< 
6hai.sis, still continue pertniaciously to inhabit. 

t The source of the river Ayi J A small landing-place abovi th* 
^ge key. 



64 BURNS'S POEMS. 

Gaunt, ghastly, ghaist-alluring edifices, 
Hanging with threatening jut, like precipices , 
O'er-arching, mouldy, glooin-inspiring coves, 
Supporting roofs fantastic, stony groves ; 
Windows and doors, in nameless sculpture i'roBt, 
With order, symmetry, or taste, unblest ; • 
Forms like some bedlam-statuary's dream, 
The craz'd creations of misguided whim; 
F'orms might be worshipp'd on the bended knee, 
And still the second dread command be free, — 
Their likeness is not found on earth, in air, or sea 
Mansions that would disgrace the building taste 
Of any mason reptile, bird, or beast ; 
Fit only for a doited Monkish race. 
Or frosty maids, forsworn the dear embrace, 
Or Cuifs of latter times, wha held the notion 
That sullen gloom was sterling, true devotion ; 
Fancies that our guid Burgh denies protection, 
And soon may they expire, unbless'd with resurrectii« 

AULD BRIG. 

O ye, my dear-remember'd, ancient yealings. 
Were ye but here to share my wounded feelings! 
Ye worthy Proveses, an' mony a Bailie, 
Wha in the paths of righteousness did toil ay ; 
Ye dainty Deacons, and ye douce Convecners, 
To whom our moderns are but causey-cleaners ; 
Ye godly Councils wha hae bless'd this town ; 
Ye godly Brethren of tlie sacred gown, 
Wha meekly gae your hurdies to the smiters ; 
And (what would now be strange) ye godly writenr 
A* ye douce folk I've borne aboon he broo. 
Were ye but here, what would ye sa} or do ? 
How would your spirits groan in deej vexation. 
Vo see each melancholy alteration : 



BURNS'S POEMS. 69 

And agonizing, curse the time and piace 
Whe.i ye begat the base, degen'rate race. 
Nae langer Rev'rend Men, their country's glory, 
In plain braid Scots hold forth a plain braid stoiy 
Nae langer thrifty Citizens, an' douce. 
Meet owre a pint, or in the Council-house; 
But staumrel, corky-headed, graceless gentry; 
The herryment and ruin of the country ; 
Men, three parts made by tailors and by barbers, 
Wha waste your wheel-hainM gear on d — d new Brigi 
and Harbors ! 

NEW BRIG. 

Now baud you there ! for faith ye've said enough, 
And muckle mair than ye can make to through. 
As for your Priesthood, I shall say but little. 
Corbies and Clergy are a shot right kittle ; 
But under favor o' your langer beard, 
Abuse o' magistrates might weel be spar'd ; 
To liken tliem to your auld warld squad, 
I must needs say, comparisons are odd. 
In Ayr, wag-wits 'nae mair can hae a handle 
To mouth " a citizen," a term o' scandal : 
Nae mair the Council waddles down the street, 
In all the pomp of ignorant conceit: 
Men wha grew wise priggin owre hops an' raisins, 
Or gather'd lib'ral views in Bonds and Seisins. 
If haply Knowledge, on a random tramp, 
[lad shor'd them with a glimmer of his lamp. 
And would to Common-sense, for once betray'd them 
Plain, dull Stupidity stept kindly in to aid them. 



What farther clishmaclavcr might been said, 
^Vha*. bloody wars, if sprites had blood to fhed. 

a* 



66 BURNS'S POEMS 

No man caii teJl ; but all before their s'^ght, 

A fairy train appear'd in order bright : 

Adown the g.ittering stream they featly danceo , 

Bright to the moon their various dresses glanced ; 

rhey footed o'er the wat'ry glass so neat, 

The infant ice scarce bent beneath their feet 

While arts of minstrelsy among them rung, 

And soul-ennobling bards heroic ditties sung. 

O, had M'Laughlan,* thairm-inspiring sage, 

Been there to hear this heavenly band engage, 

When through his dear Strathspeys they bore* witA 

Highland rage ; 
Or when they struck old Scotia's melting airs. 
The lover's raptur'd joys or bleeding cares ; 
How would his Highland lug been nobler tir'd, 
And ev'n his matchlesf hand with finer touch inspir'd 
No guess could tell what instrument appear'd, 
But all the soul of Music's self was heard , 
Harmonious concert rung in every part, 
While simple melody pour'd moving on the heart. 

The Genius of the Stream in front appears, 
V venerable chief advanc'd in years ; 
His hoary head with water-lilies crown'd, 
His manly leg with garter-tangle bound. 
Next came the loveliest pair in all the ring. 
Sweet female Beauty hand in hand with Spring, 
Then, crown'd with flow'ry hay, came Rural Joy 
And S'ummer, with- his fervid-beaming eye; 
All-cheoring Plenty, with her flowing horn, 
fjcd yellow Autumn, wreath'd with nodding cum ; 
Then Winter's time-bleach'd locks did hoary show 
By Hospitality with cloudless brow. 



• A well-kiiuwii perfoniitT of Soot ish omsic oa the viulia 



BURJVS*S POEMS. fi? 

Next follow'd Courage with his martial st.-ide, 

From where the Feal wild-woody coverts hide*, 

Benevolence, with mild, benignant air, 

A female form,* came from the tow'rs of Stair ; 

Learning and Wortli in equal measures trode 

From simple Catrine, their long-lov'd abode; 

Last, white-rob'd Peace, crown'd with a haze] wre».^ 

To rustic Agriculture did bequeath 

The broken iron instruments of Death ; 

At sight of whom our Sprites forgat their kindling wratL 



THE VISION. 

DUAN FIRST.f 



The sun had clos'd the winter day, 
The curlers quat their roaring play, 
An* hunger'd maukin ta'en her way 

To kail-yards green, 
While faithless snaws ilk step betray 

Where she has been. 

The thrasher's weary flingin-tree 
The lee-lang day had tired me ; 
And when the day had clos'd his c'e, 
Far i' the west, 



* The poet here alludes to a Mrs. Stewart, who was then in posset* 
lion of Stair. She afterwiLrds removed to Afton-iodge, on the banks d 
the Afton, a stream which he subsequently celebrated in a song entitled 
" Afton Water." — Ed. 

t Duan, a term of Ossian's for ihe different divisions of a dJirrc'/alTf 
See hu Cath-Loda, vol. ii. of Macpbersou's iraiuiauoo. 



BCRNS'S POEMS. 

Ben i' the spence, right pensivelie, 
I gaed to rest. 

There, lanely, by the ingle-cheek, . 
I sat and ey'd the spewing reek. 
That fill'd, wi' hoast-provoking sineek, 

The auld clay biggin; 
An' heard the restless rattons squeak 

About the riggin. 

All in this mottie, misty clime, 

I backward mus'd on wasted time, ♦ 

How I had spent my youthfu' prime, 

An' done nae-thing, 
But stringin blethers up in rhyme, 

For fools to sing. 

Had I to guid advice but harkit, 
I might, by this, hae led a market. 
Or strutted in a bank an' clarkit 

My cash account : 
While here, half mad, half fed, half sarkit. 

Is a' th' amount 

I started, mutt'ring, blockhead! coof! 
And heav'd on high my waukit loof, 
To swear by a' yon starry roof, 

Or some rash aith. 
That I henceforth would be a rhyme-proof 

Till my last breath ; — 

When, click ! the string the sneck did draw 
And, jee ! the door gaed to the wa' ; 
An' by my ingle-lowe I saw, 

JNow bleezm bright. 



BURIVS'S POEMS. 69 

A tigTit, outlandish Hizzie, braw, 
Come ful] in si^ht 

Ye need nae doubt, I held my whiiht ; 
The infant aith, half-form'd, was crusht 
I glow'rd as eerie's I'd been dusht, 

In some wild g-len ; 
When sweet, like modest VVorlli, she blusht, 

And stepped ben. 

Green, slender, leaf-clad holly-boug-ha 
Were twisted, gracefu', round her brows ; 
I took her for some Scottish muse, 

By that same token ; 
An' come to stop those reckless vows, 

Wou'd soon been broken. 

A " hair-brain'd, sentimental trace,** 
A^as strongly marked in her face ; 
A wildly- witty, rustic grace 

Shone full upon her; 
Her eye, ev'n turn'd on empty space, 

Beam'd keen with honor. 

Down flow'd her robe, a Tartan sheen, 
Till half a leg was scrimply seen ; 
And such a leg! my bonie Jean 

Could only peer it ; 
Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean, 

Nane else came near it. 

Her mantle large, of greenish hue, 
My gazing wonder chiefly drew ; 
Deep lights and shades, bold-mingling, threw 
A lustre grand ; 



70 bcans's poems. 

And seem'd, to my astonislj'd view, 
A well-known land ! 

Here, rivers in the sea were lost; 
There, mountains to the skies were tost; 
Here, tumbling billows mark'd the coast 

With surging foam ; 
There distant shone Art's lofty boast, 

Tlie lordly dome. 

Here, Doon ponr'd down his far-fetch'd fioodf 
There, well-fed Irvine stately thuds ; 
Auld hermit Ayr staw thro' his woods, 

On to the shore ; 
And many a lesser torrent scuds, 

With seeming roar. 

Low, in a sandy valley spread, 

An ancient IJorough rear'd her head ; 

Still, as in Scottish story read. 

She boasts a race 
To ev'ry nobler virtue bred, 

And polish'd grace. 

By stately tow'r or palace fair, 

Or ruins pendant in the air, 

B;>ld stems of heroes, here and there, 

I could discern ; 
Sorre seem'd to muso, some seem'd to dare. 

With features stern. 

My heart did glowing transport feel. 
To see a race * heroic wheel, 

• Tlie Wallaces. 



BCRNS's POEMS. 71 

And brandisli round the deep-dy c steel 

In sturdy blows ; 
While back-recoiling seem'd to reel 
Their Southron foes. 

HiS Country's Savior,* mark him well: 
Bold Richardton's f heroic swell ; 
The chief on Sark I who glorious feli^ 

In high command ; 
And HE whom ruthless Fates expel 

His native land. 

There, where a sceptr'd Pictish shade § 
Stalk'd round its ashes lowly laid, 
I mark'd a martial race, portray'd 

In colors strong; 
Bold, soldier-featur'd, undismay'd. 

They strode along. 

Thro' many a wild, romantic grove,|| 

Near many a hermit-fancied cove, 

(Fit haunts for Friendship or for Love,) 

In musing mood, 
An aged Judge, I saw him rove. 

Dispensing good. 



" William Wallace, t Adam Wallace, of Richardiou, cousin tc 'J:n 
inunoital preserver of Scottish iiidepeudence. 

X Wallace, lairdof Cragie, whowas second in command, wider Dotig 
UBA; earl of Ormond, at the famous battle on the banks of Sark, fougLj 
A. D. 1448. That glorious victory was principally owing to the judicious 
conduct and intrepid valor of the gallant laird of Cragie, who died of hii 
wounds after the action. 

^ Coilus, king of the Picts, from whom the district of Kyle is sai(i to 
lake lis name, lies buried, as tradition says, near the family-seat of ih« 
Montgomeries of Coil's-field, where his burial-place is still shown. 

11 Barskimming, the seat of the late Lord Justice Clerk. 



73 BURN9*S I'OEMS. 

With deep-struck, reverentia} awe .• 
The leuriied Sire and Son 1 saw ; 
To Nature's God and Nature's law 

They gave their lore ; 
This, all its source and end to dmw 

That, to adore. 

Bry dene's brave wardt I well could spy 
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye. 
Who call'd on Fame, low standmg by 

To hand him on, 
Where many a patriot-name on high. 

And hero shone. 



DDAN SECOND. 

With musing-deep, astonish'd stare, 
1 view'd the heav'nly-seeming Fair; 
A whisp'ring throb did witness bear, 

Of kindred sweet, 
When, with an elder sister's air, 

She did me greet 

All hail ! mv own inspir'd Ba: . ! 
In me thy native muse regar.i . 
Nor longer mourn thy fate . hard ! 

Thus Do«rly l.w! 
I come to give thee such reT^ard 

As we bestow. 

»*KnoAv, ♦lie great Genius of this i*»* 
Has many a light, aerial band. 

• Catrme, tlie seat of ihe lp.ie doctor and present professor »t«t 

♦ Coluuel Fullarum. 



burjVs's poems. T1 

Who, all beneath his high commiuid, 

llarrnonjously, 
As arta or arms they understand, 

Their labors ply. 

"They Scotia's race among theoa share; 
Some fire the Soldier on to dare; 
Some rouse the Patriot up to bare 

Corruption's heart; 
Some teach the Bard, a darling care. 

The tuneful art. 

"'Mong swelling floods of reeking gorcn 
They ardent, kindling spirits pour ; 
Or, 'mid the venal senate roar, 

They, sightless, stand, 
To mend the honest patriot-lore, 

And grace the land. 

"And when tlie Bard, or noary Sage. 
Charm or instruct the future age, 
They bind the wild poetic rage 

In energy ; 
Or point the inconclusive page 

Full on tlie eye. 

" Hence Fullarton, the brave and young 
Hence Dempster's zeal-inspir'd tongue ^ 
Hence sweet, harmonious Beattie sunjf 

His ' minstrel lays ; ' 
Or tore, with noble ardor stung. 

The skeptic's bays. 

"To lower orders are assign'd 
The humbler ranks of human-kin<L 
7 



r4 BURNS S POEMS. 

The rustic Bard, the lab'ring hind, 

The Artisan ; 
All choese, as various ttiey're inclin'df 

The various man. 

" When yellow waves the heavy grain, 
The threat'ning storm some strongly rein. 
Some teach to meliorate the plain, 

With tillage skill. 
And some instruct the shepherd train, 

Blithe o'er the hill. 

**Some hint the lover's harmless wile; 
Some grace the maiden's artless smile ; 
Some sootlie the lab'rer's weary toil, 

For humble gains, 
And make his cottage-scenes beguile 

His cares and pains. 

" Some, bounded to a district space. 
Explore at large man's infant race, 
To mark the embryotic trace 

Of rustic bard ; 
And careful note each op'ning grace, 

A guide and guard. 

" Of these am I — Coila my name 

And tliis district as mine I claim, 

Where once tlie Campbells, chiefs of fame, 

Held ruling pow'r : 
I mark'd thy embryo tuneful flame. 

Thy natal hour. 

•* With future hope I oft would gaxe. 
Fond, on tiiy little early ways. 



BURNS S POEMS. 75 

Thy rudely caroll'd chiminjsf phiuse. 

In uncouth rhymes, 
Fir'd at ihe simple, artless lays 

Of other times. 

" I saw thee seek the sounding shore, 
Delighted with the dashing roar ; 
Ur, when the North his fleecy store 

Drove tliro' the sky, 
I saw grim Nature's visage hoar 

Struck thy young eye. 

•* Or, Trhen the deep-green mantled earth 
Warm cherish'd ev'ry How'rets birth 
And joy and music pouring forth 

In ev'ry grove, 
1 saw thee eye the gen'rul mirth 

With boundless love. 

" When ripen'd fields, and azure skies, 
Call'd forth the reapers' rustling noise, 
I saw thee leave their evening joys. 

And lonely stalk. 
To vent thy bosom's swelling rise 

In pensive walk. 

" When youthful love, warm-blushmg stiong 
Keen-shiv'ring shot thy nerves along, 
Those accents, grateful to thy tongue, 

Th' adored name, 
I taught thee how to pour in song 

To soothe thy flame. 

" I saw thy pulses madd'ning play, 
Wdd send tliee pleasure's devious way. 



76 BURNS'S POEMS. 

Misled by fancy's moteor ray, 
By passion driv'n ; 

But yet the light that led astray 

Was light from heaven! 

*I taught thy manners-painting strain*, 
The loves, the ways of simple swains, 
Till now, o'er all my wide domains 

Thy fame extends : 
And some, the pride of Coila's plains, 

Become thy friends. 

"Thou canst not learn, nor can I show. 
To paint with Thomson's landscape glow, 
Or wake the bosom-melting throe 

With Shenstone's art. 
Or pour, with Gray, the moving flow 

Warm on the heart 

"Yet all beneath the unrivall'd rose, 

The lowly daisy sweetly blows ; 

The' large the forests's monarch throwf 

His army shade, 
Yet green the juicy hawthorn grows, 

Adown the glade. 

** Then never murmur nor repine : 
Strive in thy humble sphere to shine; 
And, trust me, not Potosi's mine. 

Nor king's regard, 
Can give a bliss o'erinatching thine, 

A rustic bard ! 

**To give my counsels all in one, — 
Thy tuneful flame still careful fan* 



BURNS'S POLMS. 77 

Preserve the Dignity of Man, 

With soul erect ; 
And trust, the Universal Plan 

Will all protect! 

»And wear thou this!" she solemn sad. 
And bound the Holly round my head; — 
The polish'd leaves, and berries red, 

Did rustling play ; 
And, like a passing thought, she fled 

In light away. 



THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. 
Imcrihed to R. A****, Esq. 

Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
Their homely joys and destiny obscure; 

Nor grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, 
The short but simple annals of the poor. — Gkat 



M» lov'd, my honor'd, much respected friend! 

No mercenary bard his homage pays; 
With honest pride, I scorn each selfish end. 

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem and praise j 
To ycu I sing, in simple Scottish lays. 

The lowly train in life's sequester'd scene; 
The native feelings strong, the guileless ways; 

What A**** in a cottage would have been; 
Ah tho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I ween 
7* 



78 fcURNS's POEMIS 



Nov<;mber chill blaws loud wi' an^ry sugh , 

The short'Ding- winter-day is near a close ; 
The miry beasts retreatinj^ frae the pleugh ; 

The black'ning trains o' craws to their repoBO ; 
The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes, 

This night his weekly moil is at an end, 
Collects his spades, his mattocks, and his hoes, 

Hoping the morn in ease and rest to spend, 
And weary o'er the moor his course does homeward bend 



At length his lonely cot appears in view. 

Beneath the shelter of an aged tree ; 
Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, stacher thro' 

To meet their dad, wi' flichter in noise an glee; 
His wee bit ingle blinkin bonily. 

His clean hearth-stane, his thrifty wifie's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee. 

Does a' his weary, carking cares beguile. 
An' makes him quite forget his labor and his toil 



IV. 

IJelyve the elder bairns come drappin in. 

At service out, amang the farmers roun' ; 
3ome ca' the pleugh, some herd, some tentie rin 

A cannie errand to a neebor town ; 
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown, 

In youthfu' bloom, love sparkling in her e'e. 
Comes hame, perhaps, to show a braw new gown, 

Or deposite her sair-won penny- fee. 
To help .her parents dear, if they in hardship be. 



AURNS'S FOEM9. 79 



V. 



Wi' joy unfeiguM, brothers and sisters meet, 

An' each lor other's welfare kindly spiers ; 
The social hours, swifl-wing'd, nnnotic'd fleet; 

Each tells the uncos that he sees or hears ; 
Vac parents, partial, eye their hopeful years ; 

Anticipation forward points the view. 
The mother, wi' her needle an' her sheers, 

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new 
The father mixes a' wi' admonition due. 



Theii master's an' their mistress's command, 

The younkers a' are warned to obey ; 
"An' mind their labors, wi' an eydent hand, 

An' ne'er, tho' out o' sight, to jauk or play, 
An' O ! be sure to fear the Lord alway ! 

An' mind your duty, duly, morn an' night! 
Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray, 

Implore His counsel and assisting might ; 
rhey never sought in vain, that sought the Lord aright 



But hark ! a rap comes gently to the door ; 

Jenny, wha kens the meaning o' the same, 
Tells how a neebor lad came o'er the moor. 

To do some errands, and convoy her hame ! 
The wily mother sees the conscious flame 

Sparkle in Jenny's e'e, and flush her cheek ; 
With heart-struck, an.'^ous care, inquires his name, 

While Jenny hafliins is afraid to speak ; [rake 

Weel pleas'd tiie mother hears, it's nae wild, wortlilest 



00 BURNS S POEMS. 



Wi* kindly welcome, Jenny brings him ben 

A strappan youth ; he takes the mother's uyo ; 
Blitlie Jenny sees the visit's no ill ta'en ; 

The father cracks of horses, pleughs, and kye 
The youngster's artless heart o'erflows wi' joy. 

But blate an' laithfu', scarce can weel behave ; 
The mother, wi' a woman's wiles, can spy 

What makes the youth sae bashfu' an' sae grave ; 
Weel pleaa'd to think her bairn^s respected like the Ave 



O, happy love ! where love like this is found ; 

O, heart-felt raptures ! bliss beyond compare ! 
Fve paced much this weary, n^ortal round. 

And sage experience bids me this declare — 
If Heaven a draught of heavenly pleasure spare, 

One cordial in this melancholy vale, 
Tis when a youthful, loving, modest pair, 

In other's arms breathe out the tender tale, 
Heneath the milk-white tliorn that scents the evening 
gale. 



Is there, in human form, that bears a heart, 

A wretch! a villain! lost to love and truth. 
That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. 

Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? 
Curse on his perjur'd arts ! dissembling smooth ! 

Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exil'd ? 
\s tliere no pity, no relenting ruth. 

Points to the parents fondling o'er their child ? 
Then paints the ruin'd maid, and their distraction wild 



BURNS S POEMS. 8) 



XI. 



But now die su ner crowns their simple Ooard 

The halesom. parritch, chief o Scotia's food; 
rhe ecup the only hawkie does afford, 

That 'yon* the hallan snugly chows her cud: 
The dame brings forth, in complimental mood, 

To grace the lad, her weel-hain'd kebouck fei, 
An' aft he's press'd, an' aft he ca's it good ; 

The frugal wifie garrulous will tell, 
How 'Uias a towmond auld, sin 'lint was i' the bell 



The cheerfu' suppor done, wi' serious face. 

They, round the ingle, form a circle wide; 
The sire turns o'er, wi' patriarchal grace, 

The big Ha'-Bible, ance his father's pride ; 
His bonnet rev'rently is laid aside, 

His lyart haffets wearin thin an' bare ; 
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, 

He wales a portion with judicious care ; 
And, " Let us worship God ! " he says with solenon aii 



rhey chant their artless notes in simple guise, 

They tune tlieir hearts, by far the noblest aim j 
Perhaps Dundee's wild warbling measures rise, 

Or plaintive Martyrs, worthy of the name ; 
Or noble Elgin beats the heav'nward flame, 

The sweetest far of Scotia's holy lays: 
Compar'd with these, Italian trills are tame; 

The tickled ears no heart-felt raptures raise 
Nae unison hae they with our Creator's praise. 



BFRWS S POEM» 



The piiest-like rather reads the sacred page, 

How Abram was the friend of God on high 
Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage 

With Anialek's ungracious progeny; 
Or, how the Royal Bard did groaning lie 

Beneath the stroke of Heaven's avenging ire ; 
I )r, Job's pathetic plaint, and wailing cry ; 

Or, rapt Isaiah's wild seraphic fire ; 
Or other holy seers tliat tune the sacred lyre. 



Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme, 

How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; 
How He, who bore in Heav'n the second name, 

Had not on earth whereon to lay his head ! 
How His first followers and servants sped 

The precepts sage they wrote to many a land 
How he, who lone in Patmos banished. 

Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand ; 
And heard great Bab'lon's doom pronounc'd by Heav'n'f 
command. 



Then, kneeling down, to Heav'n's eternal King, 
The saint, the father, and the husband prays! 

I [ope " springs exulting on triumphant wing,"* 
That thus they all shall meet in future days; 

There, ever bask in uncreated rays. 
No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear. 

Together hymning their Creator's praise. 



Pope's NViudsor Toresi. 



Boris's poems. 83 

In such society, yet still more dear ; 
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphem 

XVII. 

Compar'd with this, how poor Relig-ion's pride, 

In all tlie pomp of method, and of art, 
When men display to congregations wide 

Devotion's ev'ry grace, except the heart! 
I'he PowV, incens'd, the pageant will desert, 

The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole ; 
But hapiv, in some cottage far apart, 

May hear, well pleas'd, the language of the soul 
And in his Book of Life the inmates poor enrol ! 



Then hompward aU take off their sev'ral way ; 

The youngling cottagers retire to rest; 
The parent-pair their secret homage pay, 

And proffer up to Heav'n the warm request, 
That He who stUls the raven's clam'rous nest, 

And decks the lily fair in flow'ry pride. 
Would, in the wav his wisdom sees the best, 

For them and for the>r little ones provide, 
But chiefly in their hearts with grace divine preside 



Finn scenes like these old Scotia'? gn«ndeur spring* 
That makes her lov'd at home, rever'd abroad ; 

Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, 
"An honest man's the noblest work of God;" 

A.n<i certes in fair virtue's heav'nly road, 
The cottage leaves the palace far behind; 



fH BURNS'S POEMS 

What is 1 lordling's pomp? — a cumbrous loadf 

Disguiuing of the wretch of human-kind. 
Studied ia arts of hell, in wickedness refin'd ' 



XX. 

O Scotia my dear, my native soil ! 

For wh;m my warmest wish to Heav'n is sent, 
Long may the hardy sons of rustic toil 

Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content 
And, O ! may Heav'n their simple lives prevent 

From luxury's contagion, weak and vile! 
Then, howo'er crowns and coronets be rent, 

A virtuous populace may rise the while. 
And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov'd Isla 



O Thou ! who pour'd the patriotic tide 

That stream'd tiiro' Wallace's undaunted hean 
Who dar'd to nobly stem tyrannic pride, 

Or nobly die, the second glorious part; 
(The patriot's God, peculiarly thou art, 

His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) 
I) never, never Scotia's realm desert ; 

But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard, 
Lo bright succession rise, her oraarAent and ^lar^ 



BURNS 8 POEMS. 



VERSES 

ITRITTEN IN PRIAR's-CARSE HERMITAGE, ON IfITH-8IDl 

Thou whom chance may hither lead, 
Be thou clad in russet weed, 
Be thou deck'd in silken stole. 
Grave these counsels on thy soul — 

Life is but a day at most, 
Sprung from night, in darkness lost; 
Hope not sunshine ev'ry hour, 
Fear not clouds will always low'r. 

As youth and love with sprightly dance, 
Beneath thy morning star advance. 
Pleasure with her siien air 
May delude the thoughtless pair; 
Let prudence bless enjoyment's cup. 
Then raptur'd sip, and sip it up. 

As thy day grows warm and high, 
Life's meridian flaming nigh, 
Dost thou spurn the humble vale? 
Life's proud summits wouldst thou scale? 
Check thy climbing step, elate, 
Evils lurk in felon wait; 
Dangers, eagle-pinion'd, bold, 
Soar around each cliffy hold. 
While cheerful peace, with linnet aong, 
Chants th.^ lowly dells among. 
8 



BO BURNS'S POEMS. 

As the shades of evening close, 
Reck'ning thee to long repose ; 
As life itself becomes disease, 
Seek the chimney-neuk of ease ; 
There ruminate with sober thought, 
On all thou'st seen, and heard, and wrought 
And teach the sportive younkers round, 
Laws of experience, sage and sound. 
Say, Man's true, genuine estimate, 
The grand criterion of his fate. 
Is not. Art thou high or low ? 
Did thy fortune ebb or flow ? 
Did many talents gild thy span ? 
Or frugal nature grudge thee one ? 
Fell tliem, and press it on their mind. 
As thou thyself must shortly find, 
J' he smile or frown of awful Heav'n 
To virtue or to vice is giv'n. 
Say, to be just, and kind, and wise. 
There solid self-enjoyment lies ; 
That foolish, selfish, faithless ways. 
Lead to the wretched, vile, and base. 

Thus resign'd and quiet, creep 
To the bed of lasting sleep ; 
Sleep, whence thou shalt ne'er awake 
Night where dawn shall never break. 
Till future life, future no more, 
To light and joy the good restore, 
To light and joy unknown before. 

Stranger, go ! Heaven be thy guid« 
Q,uod the Beadsman of Nith-side 



BVRr^s'A Po»Mi»^ 87 



A PRAYER, 

JITDER THE PAFSSURE CF VIOLENT AHaUIBB 

O THOU great Being! what thou art 

Surpasses rra to kaow; 
Yet sure I y.ir^ rNvt known to Thee 

Are all try vrmti below. 

Thy cre!it'.r3 r/ 'o before Thee stands, 

All wieV'j'f' md distrest ; 
Yet surr ♦pd^p ills that wring my soul 

Obry ,^y high behest 

"ive 1'*x>u, Almighty, canst not act 

Fr' Of cruelly or wrath ! 
'J free my weary eyes from tears, 

Or, close them fast in death! 

But if I must afflicted be. 

To suit some wise design ; 
Then man my soul with firm resolvet 

To bear and not reoine! 



88 BURJVS'S POEHS. 



A PRAYER, 

IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. 

O THOU, unknown, Almignty Cause 

Of all my hope and fear! 
In whose dread presence, ere an hour, 

Perhaps 1 must appear ! 

If I have wanderM in those paths 

Of life I ought to shun ; — 
As something, loudly in my breast. 

Remonstrates I have done; — 

Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me 
With passions wild and strong ; 

And list'ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stept aside, 
Do Thou, All Good! — for such Thou art, 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Where with intention I have err'd, 

No other plea I have, 
But, Thou art good! and goodness ttill 

Delighteth to forgive ' 



BUR^rs'S POEMS. 89 



STANZAS, 

OSf THE SAME OCCASIOIV. 



IV HT am I loth to leave this earthly scene? 

Have I so found it full of pleasing charms ? 
Some drops of joy with draughts of ill between : 

Some gleams of sunshine 'mid renewing storm* 
Is it departmg pangs my soul alarms ? 

Or death's unlovely, dreary, dark abode ? 
t'oT guilt, for guilt! my terrors are in arms! 

I tremble to approach an angry God, 
And justly smart beneath his sin-avenging rod. 



l«'ain would I say, " Forgive my foul offence ' " 

Fain promise never more to disobey : 
But, should my Author health again dispense, 

Again I might desert fair virtue's way: 
Again in folly's path might go astray; 

Again exalt the brute, and sink the man ; 
Th«3n how should I for heav'nly mercy pray. 

Who act so counter heav'nly mercy's plan? 
Whc sin so oft have mourn'd, yet to temptation ran ? 



O Thou, great Governor of all below. 
If 1 may dare a lifted eye to Thee, 

Thy nod can make the tempest cease to blow, 
Or stiU the tumult of the raging sea ; 

8* 



90 BURNS^S POEMS. 

With that controlling pow'r assist ev'n me, 
Those headlong, furious passions to confine 

For all unfit I feel my pow'rs to be. 
To rule their torrent in th' allowed line; 

O, aid me with thy help, Uiampotence divine . 



VERSUS, 

fcVFT BT THE AUTHOR AT A REVEREND FRIEND's UOl •> 
IN THE ROOM WHERE HE SLEPT. 



O THOU, dread Pow'r, who reign'st above 

I know thou wilt me hear. 
When, for this scene of peace and love 

I make my pray'r sincere. 



The hoary sire, the mortal stroke, 
Long, long, be plea««'d to spare! 

To bless his little AHkI flock, 
And show what got^d men are. 



She, who her lovely ^^sprmg eyes 
With tender hopes *nd fears, 

O bless her with a mother's joy*, 
But spare a mother** tears ! 



Their hope, their stay, tf\ei'- dtr'Ju^ /OJ^ 
Id manhood's dawnii j* bhixJ^* 



BURNS'S POEMS. 9| 

Ble38 lun, thou God of love and truth. 
Up to a parent's wish ! 



The beauteous, seraph sister-band, 

With earnest tears I pray, 
Thou know'st the snares on ev'ry band, — 

Guide Thou their steps alway ! 



When soon or late they reach that coaet, 
O'er life's rough ocean driv'n. 

May they rejoice, no wand'rer lost, 
A family in heav'n ! 



A GRACE BEFORE DINNER. 

O THOU, who kindly dost provide 

For ev'ry creature's want! 
We bless thee, God of Nature wide 

For all thy goodness lent: 

And if it p'ease thee, heav'nly Guido^ 
May never worse be sent; 

But whether granted or denied, 
Lord, bless us with content! 



92 BURNS 8 POEMS. 



THE FIRST PSALM 

The man in life, wherever plac'd, 

Hath happiness in store, 
Who walks not in the wicked's way, 

Nor learns their guilty lore ! 

Nor from the seat of scornful pridn 
Casts forth his eyes abroad, 

But with humility and awe 
Still walks before his God. 

That man shall flourish like the treoi 
Which by the streamlets grow ; 

The fruitful top is spread on high, 
And firm the root below. 

But he whose blossom buds in guilt, 
Shall to the ground be cast. 

And, like the rootless stubble, tost 
Before the sweeping blast. 

For why? — That God, the good adorai 
Hath giv'n them peace and rest. 

But hath decreed that wicked men 
Shall ne'er be truly blest 



BUR>3'S PO£M». y^ 



ri3v: FIRS I SIX VERSeS op the NINETlEni 
PSALM. 
O THOU, the first, the greatest friend 

Of all the human race ! 
Whose strong right hand has ever been 
Their stay and dwelling place! 

Before the mountains heav'd their heads 

Beneath thy forming hand, 
Before this pond'rous globe itself 

Arose at thy command ; 

That Pow'r which rais'd, and still upholds 

This universal frame, 
From countless, unbeginning time, 

Was ever still the same. 

Those mighty periods of years 

Which seem to us so vast, 
Appear no more before thy sight 

Than yesterday that's past 

Thou giv'st the word — thy creature man, 

Is to existence brought; 
Again tliou say'st, " Ye sons of men, 

Return ye into nought!" 

Thou layest them, with all their cares. 

In everlasting sleep ; 
As with a flood Thou tak'st them off 
With o'-erwiielimng sweep 



BURNS S POEMS. 



Tliey flourish like the morning flow'r, 

In beauty's pride array'd ; 
But long ere night, cut down, it lies 

All wither'd and decay'd. 



EPISTLE TO A YOUNG FRIEND. 



i LANG hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 

A something to have sent you, 
Tho' it should serve no other end 

Than just a kind memento ; 
But how the subject-tlieme may gang, 

Let time and chance determine ; 
Perhaps it may turn out a sang, 

Perhaps lurn out a sermon. 



Ye'll try the world soon, my lad, 

And Andrew, dear, believe me, 
Ye'll find mankind an unco squad, 

And muckle they may grieve ye I 
For care and trouble set your tliouglit, 

Ev'n when your end's attained ; 
And a' your views may come to noi ghl, 

When ev'ry nerve is strained. 



I'll no say men are villains a' 
Tho real, harden'd, wicked, 

Wha hae nae chock but human law 
Are to a lew restricked — 



BURNS S POEMS. 

But och ! mankind are unco weak, 

An' little to be trusted ; 
If self the wav'ring bc.lance shake^ 

It's rarely riglit adjusted ! 

IV. 

Yet they wha fa' in fortune's strife, 

Their fate we should na censure 
For still th' important end of life 

They equally may answer ; 
A man may hae an honest heart, 

Tho' poortith hourly stare him ; 
A nian may tak a neebor's part, 

Yet hae na cash to spare him. 



Ay free, aff han', your story tell. 

When wi' a bosom crony ; 
But still keep something to yoursel, 

Ye'H scarcely tell to ony. 
Conceal yoursel as weel's ye can, 

Frae critical dissection ; 
But keek thro' ev'ry otlier man, 

Wi' sharpen'd, sly inspection. 



The sacred lowe o' weel-plac'd lo?% 

Luxuriantly indulge it ; 
But never tempt th' illicit rove, 

Tho' naething should divulge it 
I waive the quantum o' the sin, 

The hazard o' conceahng , 
But och ! it hardens a' within, 

And oetrifies the feeling! 



96 BLKNS'S POEMS. 



To catch dame Fortune's golden smii* 

Assiduous wait upon her; 
And gather gear by ev'ry wile 

That's justified by honor — 
Not for to hide it in a hedge, 

Nor for a train-attendant, 
But for the glorious privilege 

Of being independent ! 



T.Se fear o' hell's a hangman's whip^ 

To baud the wretch in order, — 
But where ye feel your honor grip, 

Let that a' be your border ; 
It's slightest touches, instant pause, — 

Debar a'- side pretences ; 
And resolutely k«ep its laws, 

Uncaring consequences. 

IX. 

The great Creator to revere. 

Must sure become the creature ; 
But still the preaching cant forbear, 

And ev'n the rigid feature ; 
Yet ne'er with wits profane to range. 

Be complaisance extended; 
An atheist's laugh's a poor exchange 

For Deity offended! 

X. 

When ranting round in pleasure's ring, 

Religion may be blinded ; 
Or, if she gie a xandom sing, 

It may be little minded ; 



But when on life wo're tomneat driv'iv 
A conscience but a canker — 

A correspondence fix'd wi* Heav'a 
Is sure a nooler anchor ! 



Adieu, dear, amiable youth! 

Your heart can ne'er be wanting; 
May prudence, fortitude, and truth, 

Erec* vour brow undauniing' 
In piougnman phrase, " Gad send yo'j speed,' 

Still daily to grow wiser; 
And may you better reck the r«d« 

Than ever did th advueser! 
m^y I78(x 



BOOK II. 

PATHETIC, ELEGIAC. AND DESCRIPTITK 



MAN WAS MADE lO MOURN. 



Whew chill November's sur»y blast 

Made fields and forests bare, 
One ev'nin^, as I waiider'd forth 

Along the banks of Ayr, 
1 spy'd a man, whose aged step 

Seem'd weary, worn with care ,• 
His face was furrow'd o'er with years, 

And hoary was hia hair. 

II. 

Young stranger, whither wandVest thou ? 

(Began tlie rev'rend sage;) 
Does thirst of wealth thy step constrain. 

Or youthful plcjisure's rago ? 
Or liaply, prest with cares and woes, 

Too soon thou hast began 
To wander forth, with me, to mouni 

The liiisenes of man ! ' 



BUR.NS'S I'OEMS. 99 

III. 

The sun that overhangs yon moort, 

Out-spreading tiir and wide, 
Where hundreds labor to support 

A haughty lordling's pride; 
I've seen yon weary winter sun 

Twice forty times return; 
Ard ev'ry time has added proofs, 

That man was made to mourn. 

IV. 

O man ! while in thy early years. 

How prodigal of time ! 
Misspending all thy precious hours, 

Thy glorious youthful prime ! 
Alternate follies take the sway; 

l^icentious passions burn ; 
Which tenfold force gives Nature's law» 

That man was made to mourn. 



Look not alone on youthful prime, 

Or manhood's active might; 
Man then is useful to his kind, 

Supported in his right; 
But see him on the edge of life, 

With cares and sorrows Avorn, 
Then age and want, oh! ill-match'd pair 

Show man was made to mourn. 

vi. 

A few seem favorites of Fate, 

In Pleasure's lap carest; 
Yet, thmk not all the rich and great 

Are likewise truly blest 

L.uFC. 



*00 BUKNS'S POEMS. 

But oh ! what crowds, in ev'ry land, 
Are wretched and forlorn; 

Thro' weary life this lesson learn, 
That man was made to mourn. 



Many and sharp the num'roua ills 

Inwoven with our frame ! 
More pointed still we make ourselv€« 

Regret, remorse, and shame ! 
And man, whose heav'n-erected face 

The smiles of love adorn. 
Man's inhumanity to man 

Makes countless thousands moura. 



See yonder poor, o'erlabor'd wight. 

Ho abject, mean, and vile. 
Who begs a brother of the earth 

To give him leave to toil I 
And see his lordly feilow-worro 

The poor petition spurn. 
Unmindful, tho' a weeping wifft 

And heli)less ofTsprmg moura 

IX. 

If I'm design'd yon lordling's slsTa, 

By Nature's law design'd ; 
Why was an independent wish 

E'er planted in my mind ? 
If not, wliy am I subject to 

His cruelty, or scorn ? 
Or why has man the will and pow*r 

To make his fellow mourn ? 



BURNS'S POEMS. 



X. 



101 



Vet, lei not this too much, my son, 

Disturb thy youthful breast; 
This partial view of human kind 

Is surely not the last ! 
The poor, oppressed, honest man, 

Had never, sure, been born, 
Had there not been some recompense 

To comfort those that mourn. 

XI. 

O Death! the poor man's dearest friend 

The kindest and the best ! 
Welcome the hour my aged limbs 

Are laid with thee at rest ! 
The great, the wealthy, fear thy blow 

From pomp and pleasure torn; 
But oh, — a blest relief to those 

That weary-laden mourn! 



A WINTER NIGHT 

Poor naked wretches, wheresoe'er you are, 
That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm! 
How shall your houseless heads, and unfed 
Your loop'd and window'd raggedness defend yam 
From seasons such as these? — Shakspeabe. 

When biting Boreas, fell and dourc. 
Sharp shivers thro' the leafless bow'r; 
When Phoebus gies a short-liv'd glow\; 
Far south the lift. 
9* 



102 BPRNS'S POEMS, 

Dim-dark'niug thro' the flaky show'r. 
Or whirlin drift! 

Ae night the storm the steeples rock'd, 
Poor Labor sweet in sleep was lock'd, 
While bums, wi' snawy wreaths up-chock'o, 

Wild-eddying swirl, 
Or thro* the raining outlet bock'd, 

Down headlong hurl. 

Listening, the doors an' winnocks rattle^ 
I thought me on the ourie cattle, 
Or silly sheep, wha bide this brattle 

O' winter war. 
And thro' the drift, deep-lairing sprattle. 

Beneath a scar. 

Ilk happing bird, wee helpless thing, 
That in the merry months o' spring. 
Delighted me to hear thee sing. 

What comes o' thee? 
Where wilt thou cow'r thy chitt'ring wing, 

An' close thy e'e ? 

Bv'n you on murd'ring errands toil'd, 
Lone, from your savage homes exil'd. 
The blood stain'd roost, and sheep-cote spoil'd, 

My heart forgets. 
While pitiless the tempest wild 

Sore on you beats. 

Now PhoBbe, in her midnight reign. 
Dark muffled, view'd tne dreary plain ; 
Still crowding thoughts, a pensive train, 
Rose in my soul, 



BUKNS'S POEiMS. 108 

When on my ear this plaintive strain, 

Slow, solemn, stole : — 

"Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust. 
And freeze, thou bitter-biting frost! 
Descend, ye chilly, smoth'ring snows! 
Not all your rage, as now united, shows 

More hard unkindness^ unrelenting, 

Vengeful malice, unrepenting. 
Than heav'n-illumin'd man on brother man bestow* 

'See stern Oppression's iron grip, 

Or mad Ambition's gory hand. 
Sending, like blood-hounds from the slip, 

Wo, want, and murder, o'er a land ! 

• Ev'n in the peaceful rural vale. 
Truth, weeping, tells the mournful tale. 
How pamper'd luxury, flatt'ry by her side. 

The parasite empoisoning her ear, 

With all the servile wretches, in the rear, 
Look o'er proud property extended wide, 

And eyes the simple rustic hind. 
Whose toil upholds the glitt'ring show, 

A creature of another kind. 

Some coarser substance, unrefin'd, 
riac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below 

" Where, where is love's fond, tender throe 
With lordly Honor's lofty brow. 

The pow'rs you proudly own ? 
Is there, beneath love's noble name, 
Can harbor, dark, the selfish aim, 

To bless himself alone? 



101 BURNS^S POEMS, 

"Mark maiden innocence, a prey 
To love-pretending snares. 

This boasted honor turns away, 

Shunning soft pity's rising sway, 
Regardless of the tears, and unavailing prayers 

Perhaps, this hour, in mis'ry's squalid nest. 

She strains your infant to her joyless breast, 
And with a mother's fears shrieks at tlie rocking hi 

" O ye ! who, sunk in beds of down, 
Feel not a want but what yourselves cieate, 
Think for a moment on his wretched fate, 
Whom friends and fortune quite disown! 
Ill satisfied keen nature's clam'rous call, 

Stretch'd on his straw, he lays himself to sleep, 
While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall. 
Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap ! 
Think on the dungeon's grim confine, 
Where guilt and poor misfortune pine' 
Guilt, erring man, relenting view ! 
But shall thy legal rage pursue 
The wretch already crushed low 
By cruel fortune's undeserved blow ! 
Affliction's son's are brothers in distress, 
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss ' ^ 

I heard nae mair, for Chanticleer 

Shook off the pouthery snaw. 
And hail'd the morning with a cheer, 

A cottage-rousing craw. 

But deep this truth impross'd my miiid - 

Thro' all his works abroad, 
The heart, benevolent and kind. 

The most resembles God. 



BURNS'S POEMS. 105 



WINTER, 



1. 

The wintry west extends nis blast, 

And hail and rain does blaw; 
Or, the stormy north sends driving forth 

The blinding sleet and snaw : 
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down 

And roars frae bank to brae ; 
And bird and beast in covert rest. 

And pass the heartless day. 



"The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast,"* 

The joyless winter day, 
Let others fear, to me more dear 

Than all the pride of May ! 
The tempest's howl, it soothes my souL 

My griefs it seems to join, 
The leafless trees my fancy please, 

Their fate resembles mine ! 

111. 

Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme 

These woes of mine fulfil, 
Here, firm, I rest — they must be best, 

Because they are thy will! 



• Dr. Young. 



106 BURNS S POEMS 

Then all I want, (O, do thou ^ant 
This one request of mine !) 

Since to enjoy thou dost deny, 
Assist me to resign. 



DESPONDENCY 



Oppress'd with grief, oppressed wiU Cir% 
A burden more than I can bear, 

I sit me down and sigh; 
O life, thou art a galling load, 
A long, a rough, a weary road, 

To wretches such as I ! 
Dim, backward as I cast my view, 

What sick'ning scenes appear ! 
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro* 
Too justly I may fear! 
Still caring, despairing. 

Must be my bitter doom ; 
My woes here shall close ne'er, 
But with the closing tomb ! 



Happy, ye sons of busy life, 
Who, equal to the bustling strife, 

No other view regard ! 
Ev'n when the wished end's denied. 
Vet while the busy means are ply'd 

Thev bring their own reward. 



BUR>'S'S POEMS 107 



Whilst 1, a hopcf-abandonM wight, 

Unfitted wiih an aim, 
Meet evTv sad returning night, 
And joyiess morn, ihe same. 
You, Dustling and jusliing, 

Forget each grief and pain ; 
I, listless, yet restless, 
Find ev'ry prospect vain. 



How blest the Solitary's lot, 
Who, all-forgetting, all-forgot, 

Within his humble cell, 
The cavern wild with tangling rootk, 
Sits o'er his newly-gather'd fruits, 

Beside his crystal well ! 
Or, haply, to his evening thought, 

By unfrequented stream, 
The ways of men are distant brought, 
A faint collected dream ; 
While praising, and raising 

His thoughts to Heav'n on high. 
As wand'ring, meand'ring, 
He views the solemn sky 



Then I, no lonely nermit plac'd 
Where never h'lman footstep trac'd, 

Less fit to play the part; 
The lucky moment to improve. 
And just to stop, and just to move, 

With self-respecting art: 
lut ah ! those pleasures, loves, and jojri, 

Which I too keenly taste, 
The Solitary cf»n despise, 



108 BURNS'S POEM9. 

i^an want, and yet be blest I 
He needs not, he heeds not, 

Or human love or hate. 
Whilst I here, must cry here, 
At perfidy ingrate ! 



Oh! i.nviable, early days. 

When dancmg, thoughtless pleasure's niazA 

To care, to guilt unknown ! 
How ill exchang'd for riper times, 
To feel the follies, or the crimes, 

Of others, or my own ! 
Ye tiny elves that guiltless sport. 

Like linnets in the bush. 
Ye little know the ills ye court, 
When manhood is your wish ! 
The losses, the crosses, 
That active man engage ! 
X The fears all, the tears all, 
Of dim declining age ! 



TO RUIN. 



All hail ! inexorabl« lord » 

At whose destruction-oreathing worrf 

The mightiest empires fall ! 
Thy cruel, wo-delighted train. 

The ministers of grief and pain, 

A sullen welcome, all! 



BURNS'S POEM8. t09 

With stern, resolv'd, despairing eye, 

I see each aimed dart ; 
For one has cut my dearest tie, 
And quivers in my heart. 
Then low'ring and pouring, 

The storm no more I dread ; 
The' thick'ning and bhick'ning 
Round my devoted liead. 



And thou, grim pow'r, by life abhorr'd, 
While life a pleasure can afford. 

Oh ! hear a wretch's pray'r I 
No more I shrink appal Td, afraid, 
I court, f beg thy friendly aid. 
To close tliis scene of care ! 
When shall my soul, in silent peace, 

Resign life's joyless day : 
My weary heart its throbbings ceaee, 
Cold mould'ring in the clay ? 

No fear more, no tear more. 
To strain iny lifeless face ; 
Enclasped and grasped 
Within thy cold embrace * 



l.AMKNT OF MARY. QUEEN OF ?COTfi> 

ON THE Al'l'ROACH OF SPRING. 

Now Nature hangs her mantle green 

On evVy blooming tree. 
And spreads her sheets o' daisies white 

Uut o"er the grassy ^ea , 
JO 



*10 BUR.NS'^H POFMS. 

Now Phoibus cheers the crystal strearni, 

And glads the azure skies; 
But nought can glad the weary wight 

That fast in durance lies. 

Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn 

Aloft on dewy wing ; 
The merle, in his noontide bow'r, 

Makes woodland echoes ring; 
The mavis wild, wi' many a note. 

Sings drowsy day to rest ; 
In love and freedom they rejoice, 

Wi' care nor thrall opprest 

Now blooms the lily by the bank. 

The primrose down the brae, 
The hawthorn's budding in the glesi. 

And milk-white is the slae : 
The meanest hind in fair Scotland 

May rove the sweets amang; 
But [, the Queen of a' Scotland, 

Maun lie in prison Strang. 

I was the Queen o' bonie France, 

Where happy I hae been ; 
Fu' lightly raise 1 in the morn, 

As blithe lay down at e'en ; 
And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, 

And monie a traitor there; 
Yet here I lie in foreign bands, 

And never-ending care. 

But as for thee, thou false woman. 

My sister and my fae, 
iiirim Vengeance, yet, shall whet a Birort 



BUR>3'S FORU%. Hi 

That thro' tliy soul shall j^ae ; 
The weeping blood in woman's breast 

Was never known to thee ; 
Nor til' balm that draps on wounds of ira 

Frae woman's pitying e'e. 

My son ! my son ! may kinder stars 

Upon thy fortune shine ; 
And may those pleasures gild thy reigh, 

That ne'er wad blink on mine ! 
God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, 

Or turn their hearts to thee ; 
And where thou meet'st thy mother's fpeiKJ^ 

Remember him for me ! 

O ! soon, to me, may summer-suns 

Nae mair light up the morn ! 
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds 

Wave o'er the yellow corn ! 
And, in the narrow house o' death 

Let winter round me rave ! 
And the next flowers that deck the sprinji 

filoom on my oeaceful grav«i 



BURNS'S POEMS. 



THE LAMENT, 

»CCA8IONFD BT THE UNFORTUNATE ISSUE LT k FRlKHD^f 
AMOUR. 

Alas! how oft does Goodness wound itself. 
And sweet Affection nrove the spring of wo. 

IIOMB 

O THOU pale orb, that silent shines. 

While care-untroubled mortals sleep! 
Thou seost a wretch that inly pines, 

And wanders here to wail and weep. 
With wo I nightly vigils keep, 

Beneath tJiy wan, unwanning beam ; 
And mourn, in lamentation deep. 

How life and love are all a dream. 



I joyless view thy ravs aaom 

The faintly-marked distant hill ; 
I joyless view thy trembling horn, 

Reflected in the gurgling rill : 
My fondly-flutt'ring heart, be still ! 

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, ceaM 
Ah ! must the agonizing thrill 

For ever bar returning peace ! 



No idly-feign'd poetic pains, 

My sad love-lorn lamcntings claim ; 
No shej)herd's pipe — Arcadian strains 



BURNS'S POEMS. 113 

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame. 
The plighted faith, the mutual flame, 

The ofl-attested Pow'rs above; 
The promis'd Father's tender name; 

These were the pledges of my !ove 



Encircled in her clasping arms,. 

How have the raptur'd moments flown! 
How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, 

For her dear sake, and hers alone! 
And must I tliink it ! is she gone. 

My secret heart's exulting boast ? 
And does she heedless hear my groan ' 

And is she ever, ever lost? 



Oh ! can she bear so base a heart, 

So lost to honor, lost to truth, 
As from the fondest lover part, 

The plighted husband of her youth r 
Alas ! life's path may be unsmooth ! 

Her way may lie thro' rough distress; 
Then, who her pangs and pains will sooth*, 

Her sorrows share, and make them less' 



Ye winged hours that o'er us past, 

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, 
Your dear remembrance in my breast, 

My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd. 
That breast, how dreary now, and void, 

For her too scanty once of room! 
Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, 

And not a wish to gild the gloom 
10* 



114 BURNS'S POEMS, 

VII. 

The morn that warns th' approaching day 

Awakes ine up to toil and wo; 
1 see the hours, in lon^ array, 

That I must suffer, ling'ring slow : 
Full many a pang, and many a throe, 

Keen recollection's direful train. 
Must wring njy soul, ere Phoebus, low 

Shall kiss the distant western main 



And when my nightly couch I try, 

^5ore harass'd out with care and grief, 
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye. 

Keep watchings with the nightly tliief, 
Or if I slumber. Fancy, chief, 

Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright : 
Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief, 

From such a horror-breathing night. 



O ! thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse 

Now highest reign'st, with boundless swaj 
Oft has thy silent-marking glance 

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray ! 
The time, unheeded, sped away, 

While love's luxurious pulse beat high, 
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, 

To mark the mutual kindling eye. 



Oh! scenes in strong remembrance set' 
Scenes never, never to return ! 

Scenes, if in stupor I forget. 
Again I feel, again I burn ; 



BCRNS S POEMS. IIS 



Prom ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, 
Life's weary vale I'll wander thro' ; 

Knd hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn 
A faitliless woman's broken vow 



LAMENT 

OV A MOTHER FOR THE DEATH fF HER I »■ 

Tone — " Finlayston Housed 

Fate gave the word, the arrow sped, 
And pierc'd my darling's heart ; 

And with him all the joys are fled 
Life can to me impart. 

By cruel hands the sapling drops, 

In dust dishonor'd laid ; 
So fell the pride of all my hopes. 

My age's future shade. 

The mother linnet, in tlie brake 

Bewails her ravish'd young ; 
So I, for my lost darling's sake, 

Lament the live-day long. 

Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow 
Now, fond, I bare my breast ; 

O, do thou kindly lay me low, 
With him I love, at rest ' 



110 BURNS^S POKMt. 



LAMENT 

FOR JAME% EARL OF GLENCAIRII. 

The wind blew hollow frae the hills, 

By fits the sun's departing beam 
L/x)k'd on the fading yellow woods 

That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream: 
Beneath a craigy steep, a bard, 

Laden with years and meikle pain, 
In loud lament bewail'd his lord, 

Whom death had all untimely ta'en. 



He lean'd him to an ancient aik. 

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with jre&ifl 
His locks were bleached white wi' time, 

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears ! 
And as he touch'd his trembling harp, 

And as he tun'd his doleful sang. 
The winds, lamenting thro' their cavea, 

To Echo bore the notes alang. 



" Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing. 

The reliques of the vernal quire ! 
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds 

The honors of the aged year ! 
A few short months, and glad and gay, 

Again ye'll charm the ear and e'e ; 
But nocht, in all -evolving time, 

Car gladness bring again to me. 



BURiVS'S POEMS. IH 

••l am a bending, aged tree, 

That Jong has stood the wind and rain 
But no^T■ has come a cruel blast, 

And my last hald of earth is gane ; 
Nae leaf o' mine shall greet the spring 

Nae simmer sun exalt my bloom ; 
But I maun he before the storm, 

And ithers plant them in my room, 

"I've seen sae monie changefu' years, 

On earth I am a stranger grown; 
[ wander in the ways of men, 

Alike unknowing and unknown: 
Unheard, unpitied, unrelieved, 

I bear alane my lade o' care. 
For silent, low, on beds of dust, 

Lie a' that would my sorrows share. 

* And last, (the sum of a' my griefs !) 

My noble master lies in clay ; 
The flow'r amang our barons bold. 

His country's pride, his country's stay 
In weary being now I pine, 

For a' the life of life is dead, 
And hope has lefl my aged ken. 

On forward wing for ever fled. 

"AwaKe thy last sad voice, my narp 

The voice of wo and wild despair ! 
Awake ! resound thy latest lay, 

Then sleep in silence evermair! 
And thou, my last, best, only friend. 

That fillest an untimely tomb, 
Accept this tribute from the bard 

Thou brought from fortimc's mirkcal gloooL 



fl8 BChNS'S POEMS. 

" In poverty's low, barren vale, 

Thick mists,, obscure, involv'd me rouiUI 
Tiio' oft i turn'd the wistful eye, 

Nae ray of fame was to be found : 
Thou found'st me, like the morning sua 

That mclt;3 the fogs in limpid air; 
The friendless bar<i, and rustic song, 

Became alike thy fost'ring care. 

'* Oh ! why has worth so short a date ? 

While villams ripon gray with time. 
Must thou, the noble, gen'rous, great, 

Fall in bold manhood's hardy prune ? 
Why did I live to see that day ? 

A day to me so full of wo ! 
O, had I met the mortal shaft 

Which laid my benefactor low ! 

"The bridegroom may forgot the bride 

W^as made his wedded wife yestreen ; 
The monarch may forget the crown 

That on iiis head an hour has been ; 
The mother may forget the child 

That smiles sae sweetly on her kneei 
But I'll remeii ber tiiee, Glencairn, 

^nd a' that thou hast done for me** 



BCKNS'S fOEMS. 119 



LlNEvS, 

• RMT TO SIR JOHS WHFTKKORD, OF WHITKFORf/, BfcRT, 
WITU TIIK FORF.GOLNU PUKM. 

Tnou who thy honor as thy Cod revcr'si, 

Who, save thy mind's reproach, nought eartlily Ibai*!^ 

Tc thee this votive off'ring- I impart, 

The tearful tribute of a broken heart. 

The friend thou valucd'st, I the patron iov'd ; 

His worth, his honor, all the world approv'd. 

We'll mourn till we too go as he has gone. 

And tread the dreary patli lo that dark world unknown 



STRATH ALLAN'S LAMENT. 

Thickest night o'erhangs my dwelling 
Howling tempests o'er me rave' 

Turbid torrents wintry swelling, 
Still surround my lonely cavot 

Crystal streamlets gently flowing, 
Busy haunts of base mankind, 

Western bn^ozes softly blowing, 
Suit not my distracted mind. 

!n the cause of right engaged, 
Wrongs injurious to redress, 



20 BDRiD* r rvs. 

noiH)r's> rar we sL-on^Iy r'ro-*^d, 
But thb Heavens denied s-voe 

Ruin's wheel r.as driven o'er us, 
Not a hope that dare attend ; 

The wide world is all before us, 
But a world without a friend ! 



THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. 

The small birds rejoice in the green leaves retumingr , 
The murmuring streamlet winds clear thro' the vale 

The hawthorn trees blow in the dews of the morning, 
And wild-scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale : 

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair. 
While the lingering moments are number'd by care ? 

No flow'rs gayly springing, nor birds sweetly singing 
Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair. 

The deed that I dar'd, could it merit their malice, 
A king and a father to place on his throne ? 

His right are these hills, and his right are these valley* 
Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find nona 

But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn, — 
My brave, gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn ; 
Your deeds prov'd so loyal in hot, bloody trial, 
Alas ! can I make you no sweeter return ! 



BURNS*3 POEMS 121 



niE AUTHOR'S FAUFAVELL TO HIS NATIVF 

COUNTRY. 

■»■ 

TuxN E — « Roslin Castle:' 



The gloomy night is gathVing fast, 
Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast, 
Yon murky cloud is foul with rain, 
I see it driving o'er the plain ; 
The hunter now has left the moor, 
The scatter'd coveys meet secure, 
While here I wander, prest with care, 
Along the lonely banks of Ayr. 



The Autumn mourns her rip'ning com 
By early Winter's ravage torn ; 
Across her placid azure sky 
She sees the scowling tempest fly : 
Chill runs my blood to hear it rave, 
I think upon the stormy wave, 
Where many a danger I must dare, 
Far from the bonie banks of Ayr. 



'TIS not the surgmi,^ billows' roar, 

'Tis not that fatal, deadly shore; 

Though death in ev'ry shape ajjpear 

The wretched have no more to fear . 

But round my heart the ties are bound, 

That heart transpierc'd with many a wounds 



|2V BI'RNS'S POKM9. 

Tliese l)leed afresh, those ties I tear, 
To leave the borne banks of Ayr. 



Farewell ! old Coila's hills and dales, 
Her heathy moors and winding vales, 
The scenes where wretched fancy rovea 
Pursuing past, unhappy loves I 
Farewell, my friends ! farewell, my foes ! 
My peace with these, my love with thoa* 
The bursting tears my heart declare, 
Farewell the bonie banks of Ayr. 



FAREWELL TO AYRSHIRE. 

ScE>Ks of WO and scenes of pleasure, 
Scenes that former thoughts renew, 

Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure, 
Now a sad and last adieu ! 

Bonie Doon, sae sweet and gloamin, 
Fare thee weel before 1 gang! 

Bonie Doon, whare, early roaming. 
Fust I wcav'd tlie rustic sang ! 

Bow'rs, adieu, whare Love, decoying, 
First inthraird this heart o' mine, 

There the safest sweets enjoying, 
Sweet£i that Mom'ry ne'er shall ty»e 

Friends, so near my bosom ever, 
V'e hae render'd moments dear 



BUR.NS'S POKMS. 

But, alas! when forcM to sever, 
Then the stroke, O how severe! 

Friends! that parting tear, reserve it 
Tho' 'tis doubly dear to uie; 

Could I tJimk I did deserve it, 
How much happier would I be! 

Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure, 
Scenes that former thoughts renew, 

Scenes of wo and scenes of pleasure 
Now a sad and last adieu ! 



isa 



IHE FAREWELL TO THE BRETHREN OF ST 
JAMES'S LODGE, TARBOLTON 

X jNE — " Good night, and joy he wV you o' * 



Adieu! a heart-warm, fond adieu! 

bear brotliers of the mystic tye ' 
Ye favor'd, ye enlighten'd few. 

Companions of my social joy ! 
Tho' I to foreign lands must hie. 

Pursuing fortune's sliddery ba', 
With melting heart, and brimful eye, 

I'll mind you still, tho' far awa'. 



<)f\ have I met your social band, 

And spent tlie ciieerful, festive night; 



:%i ^w."l^w'j> POF.M9. 

)ft. koti-tV. \>'.th sui/;-?!.*^ <.i;mmand, 
H resided nV;.- t)ie suns of Hg\ii ' 

And by that hieroglyphic bright. 
Which none but craftsmen ever .^^ 

Strong inein'ry on my heart shall wni€ 
Those iiuppy scenes, wlien far aws' 



May freedom, h«"inony, and love, 

Unite you in the grand design, 
Beneath the Omniscient Eye above, 

The glorious Architect divine ! 
That you may keep the unerring line, 

JJtill rising by the plummet's law, 
Till order bright completely shine. 

Shall be my pray'r when far awa'. 



And you, farewell ! whose merits clainft 

Justly, that highest badge to wear I 
lleav'n bless your honor'd, noble name, 

To Masonry and Scotia dear ! 
A last request permit me here, — 

When yearly ye assemble a', 
!)ne round, — I ask it with a tear, — 

To him — Uie Baid that's far twa" 



sumrfs'R POKU*. 



ts» 



FARF^WELL TO ELIZA. 
TuNK — " Gilderay.'' 



Prom thee, Eliza, I must go, 

And from my native shore; 
The cruel fates between us throw 

A boundless ocean's roar : 
But boundless oceans, roaring wide, 

Between my love and me, 
They never, never can 'divide 

My heart and soul from thee. 



Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear, 

The maid that I adore! 
A boding voice is in mine ear, 

We part to meet no more. 
But the last throb that leaves my heait, 

While death stands victor by, 
That throb, Eliza, is thy part, 

And thme that latest sigh' 

n* 



VJ6 BURNS'S POEMS 



HIGHLAND MARY^. 
Tune — " Katharine O^^ 

Ye binks, and braes, and streams around 

The castlo o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowenk 

Your waters never drumlie! 
There simmer first unfauld her robes, 

And th^re the langest tarry; 
For there 1 took the last farewcel 

O' my sweet Highland Mary. 



How sweetly bloom'd the gay green oirk, 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom; 
As underneath their fragrant shade, 

I clasp'd her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie t 
For dear to me as light and life 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 



VVi' many a vow, and lock a emorace, 

Our parting was fu' tender 
And, pledging aft to meet again. 

We tore oursels asunder: 
But oh ! fell death's untimely frost 

That nipt my flower sae early! 
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 



Bl i:>'S S POEMS. 



1^ 



O, pale, pale io\v, those rosy lipfe 

I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly! 
And cbs'd, for ay, the sparkling glance 

That dwelt on me sae kindly ! 
And mould'ring now, in silent dusty 

That heart that lo'd ,Tie dearly! 
But still, within my bosom's core, 

Shall live my Highland Mary. 



TO MARY IN HEAVEN. 

Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray 

That lov'st to greet the early morn, 
Again thou usher'st in the day 

My Mary from my soul was torn. 
O Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy place of blissful rest! 
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid ? 

Hear'st thou the groans tliat rend his breast i 

That sacred hour can I forget ? 

Can I forget the hallo w'd grove, 
Where, by the winding Ayr, we met, 

To live one day of parting love? 
Eternity will not efface 

Those records dear of transports past ; 
Thy image at our last embrace ! 

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! 

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled rihore, 

O'erhung with wild- woods, thick'ning, grecD 



128 BCRNS'S POEMS. 

Tlie fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, 
Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene. 

The flow'rs sprang wanton to be prest, 
The birds sang love on ev'ry spray, 

Till too, too soon, the glowing west 
Proclairn'd the speed of winged day. 

Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, 

And fondly broods with miser care ! 
Time but th' impression deeper makes, 

As streams their channels deeper wear. 
My Mary ! dear departed shade ! 

Where is thy blissful place of rest ? 
Seest thou thy .over lowly laid ? 

Ilear'st thou the groans that rend his breattF 



ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET, 

OF MONBODDO. 

Life ne'er exulted in so rich a prize 

As Burnet, lovely, from her native skies ; 

Nor envious Death so triumph'd in a blow, 

As that which laid die accomplish'd Burnet low. 

Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? 

Jn richest ore 'the brightest jewel set' 

In tliee, high Heav'n above was truest shown, 

As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known 

In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves ; 
Thou crystal streamlet, with thy flow'ry shore, 



BURNS^S POEMS. I2!k 

Ye woodland choir that chant your idle love8. 
Ye cease to charm — Kliza is no more ! 

Ve heathy wastes, inmixVl with reody fena, 

Ye mossy streams, with sedg-e and rushes st< rd. 

Ye nigged chffs, o'criiaiifring dreary j^lens, 
Tc you I fly — ye with my soul accor<l 

Princes, whose cumb'rous pride was all their worth. 
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail ; 

And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth, 
And not a muse in honest grief bewail ? 

We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride 
And virtue's light, that beams beyond the sphere! 

But, like the sun eclips'd at morning tide. 
Thou lefr'st us darkling in a world of tears 

The parent's heart that nestled fond in tJiee, 
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care ! 

So deck'd tJie woodbine sweet yon aged tree; 
So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare. 



VERSES, 

>W READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH OP JOH.f 
m'lEOD, ESQ., BROTHER TO A TOUNO LADT, A FAR 
TlCULAh FRIENU OF THE AUTHOR's. 

Sap thy tale, thou idle page, 

And rueful thy alarms ! 
Death tears the brother of ner love 

From Isabella's irms 



tJC BCRNS'S roEafs. 

*?vectly tleckM wiin pearly dew 
The morning rose naay blew ; 

IJ'it cold, successive noontide blasU 
May lay its beauties low 

♦'Air on Isabella's morn 
The sun propitious smil'd ; 

lv»t. long ere noon, succeeding cloudi 
'^r'cceeding hopes beguil'd. 

Vp,m oft tears the bosom chords 
That Nature finest strung; 

')o Isabella's heart was form'd, 
And so that heart was wrung 

Dread Omnipotence alone 
Can heal the wound he gave ; 

Can point the brimful, grief-worn ey«t 
To scenes beyond the grave. 

Virtue's blossoms there shall blow 
And fear no with'ring blaat; 

There Isabella's spotless worth 
Shall happy be ai l««t 



BCRNS*S POEMS. Idl 



SONNET 

OM TBE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL ESq., OF GLl."* 
RIDDEL, APRIL, 1794. 

No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more, 

Nor pour your descant, grating on my soul ; 

Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole. 

More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar. 

How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes ? 

Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend ! 

How can I to the tuneful strain attend ? 

That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where Ridde 

lies! 
Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of wo. 
And soothe the Virtues weeping on this bier. 
The Man of Worth, and has not left his peer, 
Is in his " narrow house," for ever darkly low. 
Thee, Spring, again with joy shall other* greet 
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet 



VERSES, 

ON THE DEATH OK SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIB 

The lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare. 
Dim, cloudy, sunk beneath the western wave , 

Th' inconstant blae* howl'd thro' the dark'ning ail 
And hollov whistled in the rocky cave. 



fjlS- BUR.VS'S POEMS. 

Lcnc as I tvanderVl by each cliff and dell, 
Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal tra.n:* 

Or mus'd where limpid streams, once hallow'd well,' 
Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred fane ; I 

Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks, 
The clouds, switl-wing'd^ flew o'er the starry sky. 

The groaning trees untimely shed their locks. 
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye 

Tne paly moon rose in the livid east, 

And 'mong the clitfs disclosed a stately form, 

In weeds of wo, that frantic beat her breast, 
And mixt her wailings with the raving storntL 

Wild to my heart the filial puises glow, 
'Twas Caledonia's trophied shieM I view'd ! 

Her form majestic droop'd in pensive wo, 
The light'ni ng of her eye in tears iinbu'd. 

Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war, 

Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd, 

That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar. 

And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world. 

"My patriot son fills an untimely gravel" 
With accents wild and lifted arms she cried, 

"Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save 
liOw lies the he^art that swell'd with honest pride ! 

"A weeping country joins a widow's tear, 
The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry ; 



• The Kingr's Tark, at Flolyroo'l House, t 5^1. Anllioiiy's WelL 
t Si. Anthony's Cb'jLi>el 



BURAS'S POEMS. 133 

The drooping Arts surround their pat/on's Dier, 
Aid grateful Science heaves the heartfelt sigh. 

" I saw my sons resume their ancient firo ; 

1 saw fair Freedom's blossoms richly blow; 
But ah! how hope is born but to expire^. 

Relentless fate has laid this guardian low. 

' My patriot falls ! but shall he lie unsung, 
While empty greatness saves a worthless name ? 

No ! ev'ry muse shall join her tuneful tongue. 
And future ages hear his growing fame. 

" And I will join a mother's tender cares, 
Thro' future times to make his virtues last, 

That distant years may boast of other Blairs ! " — 
She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blait 



ADDRESS 



to THE SHADE OF THOMSON, ON CROWNING HIS BC«t 
AT EDNAM, BOXBCJRGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. 

While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, 
Unfolds her tender mantle green, 

Or pranks the sod in frolic mood. 
Or tunes iEolian strains between , 

While Summer, with a matron grace, 
Retreats to Dryburgh's cooling shade, 

Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace 
The progress of the spiky blade ; 
12 



134 BURNS'S POEMS. 

While Autumn, benefactor kind, 
By Tweed erects his aged head. 

And sees, with self-approving inind, 
Earli creature on his bounty fed ; 

While maniac Winter rages o'er 

The hills whence chissic Yarrow floirs 

Rousing the turbid torrent's roar, 

Or sweeping, wild, a waste of snows 

So long, sweet poet of the year, 

Shall bloom tliat wreath thou well haat won 

While Scotia, with exulting tear, 

Proclaims that Thomson was her son! 



EPITAPH 

FOR THE author's FATHER. 

O TE, whose cheek the tear of pity stains, 
Draw near with pious rev'rence, and attend; 

Here lie the loving husband's dear remains, 
The tender father, and the gen'rous friend. 

The pitying heart that felt for human wo; 

The daun'less heart that fear'd no human pnJe; 
The friend of man, to vice alone a foe, 

*fFor ev'n his failings lean'd to virtue's side."* 

* Goiasmith 



•CUNY's POEMS. 13JJ 



POR> R. A., ESd. 

Know thou, O stranger to the fame 
Of this much lov'd, much honor'd name ; 
(For none that knew hira need be told,) 
A wanner heart Death ne'er made cold. 



ON A FRIEND. 

An honest man here lies at rest, 
As e'er God with his image blest; 
The friend of man, the friend of truth ; 
The friend of age, the guide of youth : 
Few hearts, like his, with virtue warm'd, 
Few heads with knowledge so inform'd; 
If there's another world, he lives in blisa ; 
If there is none, he made the best of tbid 



A BARD'S EPITAPH 

Is thijre a whlm-inspir'd fool, 
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, 
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, 
Let him dr>'w near: 



136 BUR.VS'S POEMS. 

And owre this grassy heap sing doo). 
And drap a tear. 

Is tliere a bard of rustic song, 

Who, noteless, steals thc^crowds amon^, 

That weekly this area throng, 

O, pass not by ! 
But, with a frater-feeling strong. 

Here heave a sigh. 

Is there a man whose judgment clear, 
Can others teach the course to steer, 
Yet runs, himself life's mad career, 

Wild as the wave; 
Here pause, — and, thro' the starting teai 

Survey this grave. 

The poor inhabitant below 

Was quick to learn and wise to know 

And keenly felt the friendly glow. 

And softer flame ; 
But thoughtless follies laid him low. 

And stain'd his na,iie' 

Reader, attend — whether thy soul 
Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, 
Or darkly grubs this earthly hole, 

In low pursuit ; 
Know, prudent, cautious self-controi 

Is wisdom's root 



BCRNS'S POEMS. I,?; 



VERSES 

»H THE BIRTH OF A POSTHDVOUS CHILD, BOR?l »ll 
PECULIAR CIRCDMSTANCES OF FAMILY DISTRE8li 

Sweet flowret, pledg-e o* meikle love, 

And ward o' monie a pray'r, 
What heart o' stane wad thou na move, 

Sae helpless, sweet, and fair! 

November hirples o'er the lea, 

Chill on thy lovely form ; 
And gane, alas ! the shelt'ring tree, 

Should shield thee frae the storm. 

May He who gives the rain to pour, 

And wings the blast to blaw, 
Protect thee frae the driving show'r, 

The bitter frost and snaw ! 

May He, the friend of wo and want, 
Who heals life's various stounds, 

Protect and guard the mother-plant, 
And heal her cruel wounds. 

But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, 

Fair on the summer morn ; 
Now, feebly bends she in the blast, 

Unshelter'd and forlorn. 

Blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gena, 

Unscath'd by ruffian hand ; 
And from thee many a parent stem 

Arise to deck our 'and. 
12* 



|;18 BURNS'S POEMS 



LINES 

ir aCARINO SOME WATER-FOWL IN LOCH TtRIT, A WJIJk 
SCENE AMONG THE HILLS OF ODGHTERTTa*. 

Why, ye tenants of the lake, 
For me your wat'ry haunt forsake ? 
Tell me, fellow-creatures, why 
At my presence tlius you fly ? 
Why disturb your social joys, 
Parent, filial, kindred ties? 
Common friend to you and me. 
Nature's gifts to all are free ! 
Peaceful keep your dimpling wave, 
Busy feed or wanton lave ; 
Or, beneath the shelt'ring rock. 
Bide the surging billow's shock. 

Conscious, blushing for our race. 
Soon, too soon, your fears I trace; 
Man, your proud, usurping foe. 
Would be lord of all below ; 
Plumes himself in Freedom's pride, 
Tyrant stern to all beside. 

The eagle from the cliffy brow 
Marking you, his prey below. 
In his breast no pity dwells. 
Strong necessity compels, 
But man, to whom alone is giv'n 
A ray direct from pitying Heav'n, 



BURNS'S POEM3. 13&i 

Glories in his heart humane, 

And creatures for his pleasure slain! 

In these savage, liquid plains, 
Only known to wand'nng swains. 
Where the mossy riv'let strays, 
Far from human haunts and ways, 
All on Nature you depend. 
And life's poor season peaceful spend 

Or, if man's superior might 
Dare invade your native right, 
On the lofly ether borne, 
Man with all his powers you scorn; 
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings, 
Other lakes and other springs ; 
And the foe you cannot brave. 
Scorn at least to be his slave. 



SONNET 



WRITTEN ON THE 25tH OF JANUARY, 1793, THE B^RTB 
OAT OF THE AUTHOR, ON HEARING A THRUSB, IN 
MORNING WALK. 

Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough ; 

Sing on, sweet biri, I listen to thy strain; 

See ! aged Winter, 'mid his surly reign. 

At *hy blithe carol, clears his furrow'd brow ; 

So, in lone Poverty's dominion drear. 

Sirs -neek Content, with light, unanxious heart* 



140 BIRNS'S POEMS. 

Welcomes the r^pid moments, bids them part, 
Nor asks if they bring auglit to hope or fear. 
I thank Ihee, Author of this op'ning day, 
Thou whose bright sun now gilds yon orient 8xie« 
Riches denied, thy boon was purer joys. 
What wealth could never give nor take away ! 
Vet come, thou child of poverty and care ; 
The mite high Ueav'n bestow'd, that mite with thee I'll 
share 



ON SENSIBILITY. 

TO Mf DEAR AND MDCH HONORED FRIEND, MM.8. D0» 
LOP, OF DDNLOP. 

Sensibility! how charming. 

Thou, my friend, canst truly tell; 

But distress, with horrors arming, 
Thou hast also known too welL 

Fairest flower, behold the lily, 

Blooming in the sunny ray ; 
Let the blast sweep o'er the valley 

See it prostrate on the clay. 

Hear the wood-lark charm the forest^ 

Telling o'er his little joys ; 
Hapless bird! a prey the surest 

To each pirate of the skies. 

Dearly bought the hidden treasure, 

Finer feelings can bestow ; 
Chords that vibrate sweetest pleosiirs, 
• Thrill the deepest notes of wo. 



BURNS S POEMH 



141 



TO A MOUSE, 

»P TURNING HF.R VV IN HF.R IO;ST, WITB TDE FIODSB 
NOVEMBER, 1785. 

Wee, sleekit, cow'rin, timVous beastie! 
O, what a panic's in thy breastie! 
Thou need nae start awa sae hasty, 

Wi' bickerin brattle ! 
wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, 

Wi' niurd'ring pattle ! 

I truly sorrow man's dominion 
Has broken Nature's social union, 
An' justifies that ill opinion 

Whicli makes thee startle 
At me, thy poor earth-born companion. 

An' follow-mortal ! 

I doubt na, whyles but thou may thieve! 
What then ? poor beastie, thou maui live ! 
A daimen-icker in a thrave 

'S a sma' request : 
I'll get a Hess in wi' the lavo, 

And never miss't! 

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin ! 
Its silly wa's the win's are strewin ; 
An' naethin^, now, to bi^ a new ane, 

O' fof^gage jrreon ; 
An' bleak Oecember win's onsuin, 

BaiMi snell and keen ' 



I '2 BURNS'S POEMS. 

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' vruta, 
An' weary winter comin' fast, 
An' cozie here, beneath the blast, 

Thou thought to dwell, 
Till, crash ! the cruel coulter past 

(Jut thro' thy cell. 

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble 
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! 
Now thou'st turn'd out, for a' thy troubl«^ 

But house or hald. 
To tliole the winter's sleety dribble. 

An' cranreuch cauld ! 

But, tnousie, thou art no thy lane. 
In proving foresight may be vain; 
The best laid scheme o' mice an' men, 

Gang aft a-gley, 
An lea'e us nought but grief and pain 

For promis'd joy. 

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me 
The present only toucheth thee ; 
But, och ! 1 backward cast my e'e, 

On prospects drear 
An' forward, the' I canna see, 

I guess an' fear' 



BURNS'S POEMS. 



143 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY, 

»II lURNINO ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, I* 
APRIL, 178G. 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou'st met me in an evil hour; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem; 
To SDare thee now is past my pow'r. 

Thou bonie gem. 

Alas ! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonie Lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet, 

Wi' speckled breast, 
When upward-springing, blithe, to greei 

The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting North 
Upon thy early, humble birth; 
Yet cheerfully thon glinted forth 

Amid the storm. 
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 

'IMiy tender form. 

The flaunting fiow'rs our gardens yield. 
High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield ,* 
But thou, beneath the random bicld 

O' clod or stane. 
Adorns the histie stibble-fieUl, 

Unseen, alane. 



lU BURNS'S POKMS. 

There, in thy scanty mantle claci. 
Thy snawie bosom sunward spread. 
Thou lifts thy unassumin<r head, 

In humble guise ; 
But now {ho. share uptears thy bed, 

And low tiiou lies! 

Such is the fate of artless maid, 
Sweet flow'ret of the rural shade ! 
By love's simplicity betray'd, 

And guileless trust; 
Till she, like thee, all soil'd, is laid 

Low i' the dust. 

Such is the fate of simple bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starr'd; 

Unskillful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er. 

Such fate to suff"'ring worth is giv'n, 

Who long with wants and woes ha? striv** 

By human pride or cunning driv'n 

To mis'ry's brink ; 
Till, wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, 

He, ruin'd, sink ! 

Ev'n thou WHO mourn'd the daisy's ftt«j 
That fate is thine — no distant date ; 
Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, 

Full on tliy bloom; 
Till, crush'd beneath the furrow's weiab* 

Shall be thy doom 



•URNS'S POEMS. 1^5 



TFIK HUMBLE PETITION OF BRUAR \\ ATER,* 

TO THE NOBLE DUKE OF ATHOL.K. 

My lord, I know your noble ear 

Wo ne'er assails in vain: 
Embolden'd thus, I beg you'll hear 

Your humble slave complain, — 
How saucy PhoBbus' scorching bcarr.a. 

In flaming summer-pride, 
Dry-with'ring, waste my foamy strea.m8, 

And drink my crystal tide. 

The lif^htlv-inmp'n;';, glowrin trouts, 

That ibro' mv vrn^ers play, 
T in their random wanton spouts, 

They noar th'i -nargin stray ; 
f, hapless chaice, they linger lang, 

I'm BcorcKinj'' up so shallow, 
' hey're le<l the whit'ning stanes amang, 

In gaapir^ death to wallow. 

i ast ('ar I grat wi' spite and teen, 

As Poot B**** came by, 
"hat, to a bard, I should be seen 

Wi' half my channel dry ; 
• panegyric rhyme, I ween. 

Ev'n as I was, he shor'd me ^ 



Br .8 Falli, in Athole, arc t-\reeliiiglv picturesque Aiid beauufU 
thtyii eleci is much impaired by llie wanl of trees aiid •brubt. 

13 



l46 BURNS*S POEMS. 

But, had I in my glory been, 
He, kneeling, wad ador'd me. 

Here, foaming down the shclvy rocka, 

In twisting strength I rin ; 
There, high my boiling torrent smoke* 

Wild-roaring o'er a linn : 
Enjoying large each spring and well, 

As nature gave them me, 
I am, altho' I say't mysel, 

Worth gaun a mile to see. 

Would then my noble master please 

To grant my highest wishes, 
He'll shade my banks wi' towering tre«< 

And bonie spreading bushes ; 
Delighted doubly, then, my lord, 

You'll wander on my banks. 
And listen monie a grateful bird 

Return you tuneful thanks. 

The sober lav'rock, warbling wild 

Shall to the skies aspire ; 
The gowdspink, music's gayest chiU 

Shall sweetly join the choir; 
The blackbird strong, the lintwhite ' <^i 

The mavis mild and mellow; 
The robin pensive autumn cheer, 

In all her looks of yellow : 

This, too, a covert shall ensure. 

To shield them from the storm 
And coward ma u kin sleep secure* 

Low in her grassy form : 



BURNS S POEMS. 

Here shall the shepherd make his seat 
To weave his crown of flow'rs ; 

Or find a shelt'ring, safe retreat, 
From prone descending- show'rs 

And here, by sweet endearing stealth. 

Shall meet the loving pair. 
Despising words, with all their wealth. 

As empty, idle care. 
The flow'rs shall vie in all their charmi 

The hour of heav'n to grace. 
And birks extend their fragrant arms. 

To screen the dear embrace 

Here haply, too, at vernal dawn. 

Some musing bard may stray. 
And eye the smoking, dewy lawn. 

And misty mountain gray ; 
Or, by the reaper's nightly beam, 

Mild chequ'ring thro' the trees, 
Rave to my darkly-dashing stream, 

Hoarse-swelling on the breeze. 

Let lofty firs, and ashes cool. 

My lowly banks o'erspread. 
And view, deep-bending in the pooi^ 

Their shadows' wat'ry bed; 
Let fragrant birks, in woodbines drest| 

My craggy cliff's adorn; 
And, for the little son^ter*s nest, 

The close embow'ring thorn. 

So may old Scotia's darling hope, 
Youi little angel band, 



/4? 



BDR-XS'S I'OEMi. 

Spring, like their fathers, up to pnyp 

Theii honor'd native land. 
So may, thro' Albion's farthest ken, 

To social flbwinjj glasses, 
The grace be — "Athole's honest men, 

And Athole's bonie lasses!" 



VERSES 



Olf SEEING A WOUNDED HARE LIMP BY ME, WHI» 
FELLOW HAD JUST SHOT AT. 

WHUMAN man! curse on thy barb'rous art. 
And blasted be thy murder-aiming eye: 
May never pity soothe thee with a sigh, 
Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel heart ' 

Go, live, poor wand'rer of the wood and field, 

The bitter little that of life remains ; 

No more the thick'ning brakes, and verdant plains 
To thee shall home, or food, or pastime yield. 

Seek, mangled wretch, some place of wonted rest. 
No more of rest, but now tliy dying bed ! 
The shelt'ring rushes whistling o'er thy head. 

The cold earth with thy bloody bosom prest. 

Oft, as by winding Nith I musing wait 
The sober eve, or hail the cheerful dawn, 
I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy lawn. 

And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn thy haplea. 



BURJVft S POEWS. H9 



LINES 

WRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, OVER Till CHIMN£7- PIKCS 
IIV THE PAKLOR OF THE INIV a I KRNMORE, TAT 
MOUTH. 

Ai>MiRiNG Nature in her wildest grace, 
These northern scenes with weary feet I trace 
O'er many a winding dale and painful steep, 
Th' abodes of covey'd grouse and timid sheep. 
My savage journey, curious, I pursue, 
nil fam'd Breadalbane opens to my view. 
'I'he meeting cliffs each deej)-sunk glen divides, 
The woods, wikl-scatter'd, clothe their ample sides 
Th' outstretching lake, embosom'd 'mong the hills, 
'J'lie eye with wonder and amazement fills ; 
The Tay, meand'ring sweet, in infant pride. 
The palace rising on his verdant side ; 
The lawns wood-fring'd in Nature's native taste; 
The hillocks dropt in Nature's careless haste ; 
The arches striding o'er the new-born stream ; 
J'he villaire cflitt'riiia' in the noontide beam — 



Pjetic ardors in my bosom swell, 

Lone, vvarid'ring by the hermit's mossy cell: 

The sweeping theatre of hangmg woods : 

Til' incessant roar of headlonof tumblintf floods 



Here Ponsy might wake her heav'n-taught lyre, 
And look thn*' Nature with creative fire* 
13* 



l.*»C' BiaNs's POEMS. 

Here, to the wmng^s of Fate half reconciled 
Misfortune's liuhten'd steps might wander wild 
And Disappointment, in these lonely bounds, 
Find balm to soothe her bitter, rankling wounds; 
UeiP heart-struck Grief might heav'nward stretch lift 

scan, 
And injur'd Worth forget and pardon man. 



LINES 

WTRITTEN WITH A PENCIL, STANDING Bf THE FALL ©• 
FYERS, NEAR LOCH-NESS. 

Among the heathy hills and ragged woods, 

The roaring Fyers pours his mossy floods ; 

Till full he dashes on the rocky mounds, 

Where, through a shapeless breach, his stream resounds 

As high in air the bursting torrents flow. 

As deep recoiling surges foam below. 

Prone down the rock the whitening sheet descends, 

And viewless Echo's ear, astonish'd, rends. 

Dim-seen, through rising mists and ceaseless show i^ 

The hoary cavern, wide-surrounding, low'rs. 

Still thro' the gap the struggling river toils. 

And still below the horrid cauldron boils — 



BOOK in. 

FAMILIAR AND EPISTOLARIf. 
TO MISS CRUICKSHANKS, 

A »ER¥ rOL'iNG LADY, — WRITTEN ON THE BLANK LEAf 
or A BOOK, PRESENTED TO HER BY THE AUTHOR. 

Beauteous rose-bud, young and gay, 
Blooming on thy early May, 
Never may'st thou, lovely flower, 
Chilly shrink in sleety show'r! 
Never Boreas' hoary path. 
Never Eurus' pois'nous breath, 
Never baleful stellar lights. 
Taint thee witii untimely blights. 
Never, never reptile thief 
Riot on thy virgin leaf! 
Nor even Sol too fiercely view 
Thy bosom blushing still with de^ ' 



May'st thou long sweet crimson gem, 
Richly deck thy native stem ; 
TDl some evening, sober, calm. 
Dropping dews, and breathing balm. 
While all around the woodland rings, 
And ev*i> bird »liy requiem sings ; 



I5Q BLKNS'S POEMS. 

Thon, ainul the dirgefnl sound. 

Shutl thy dying honors round, 

And resign to parent earth 

The loveliest form slie e'er gave birth. 



VERSES 



ON A TOUNG LADY, RKSIDING O.N THE BANKS Of THE 
SMALL RIVF.R DEVON, IN CLACKMANNANSHIRE, BUT 
, WHOSE INFANT YEARS WERE SPENT IN AYRSHIRE 

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon, 
With green spreading bushes, and flow'rs bloominji 
fair ; 

But the boniest flow'' on the banks of the Devon 
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Avr. 

Mild be the sun on this sweet-blushing flower. 

In the gay, rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew ! 
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower, 

That steals on the evening each leaf to renew. 

O, spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes, 
With chill, hoary wing, as ye usher the dawn! 

And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seiz(i3 
The verdure and pride of tlie garden and lawn. 

fiPt Bourbon exult in his gny gilded Ulies, 

And England triumphant display her proud rose: 

\ fairer than either adorns the green vallevs 
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows. 



BURNS'S I'OEMS. I5!l 



TO MISS L , 

WITH BI^TTIe's poems A3 A NEW YEARNS GIFT, UP 
UARY t, 1787. 

Agaik the silent wheels of time 

Their annual round have driv'n, 
Vnd you, tho' scarce in maiden prime. 
Are so much nearer heav'n. 

No gifts have I, from Indian coasts, 

The infant year to hail ; 
I send you more than India boasts, 

In Edwin's simple tale. 

Our sex with guile and faithless love 

Is charg'd, perhaps too true ; 
But may, dear maid, each lover prove 

An Edwin still to you. 



VERSES 

10 4 TDUKG LADY, WITH A FRESEiNT Of SOSet 

Here, where the Scottish muse immortal lives. 

In sacred strains and tuneful numbers joinM. 
Accept the gift; tho' humble he who gives, 

Rich is the tribute of the grateful mind. 



54 BURNS'S POEMS 

So mav no ruffian-feeling in tny breast 
Discoraaiit jar thy bosom-chords among 

But peace attune thy gentle soul to rest. 
Or love ecstatic wake his seraph song: 

Or pity's rotes, in luxury of tears, 

As modest want the tale of wo reveals ; 

While conscious virtue all the strain endears, 
And heav'n-born p'ety her sanction seals. 



VERSES 



*MTTEN ON THE BLANK LEAF OF A COPY OF HII 
POEMS, PRESENTED TO A LADY, WHOM HE HAD Of 
TEN CELEBRATED UNDER THE NAME OF CHLORIS. 

*Tis Friendship's pledge, my young, fair friend. 

Nor thou the gift refuse, 
Nor with unwilling ear attend 

The moralizing muse. 

Since thou, in all thy youth and charms, 

Must biL the world adieu, 
(A world 'gainst peace in constant arms,) i 

To join the friendly few ; 

Sii.ce, thy gay morn of life o'ercast. 

Chill came t)ie tempest's lower ; 
(And ne'er misfortune's eastern bias 

Uid nip a fairer flow'r ;) 



BURNS S POEM*. 

Since life's gay scenes must charm no more, 

StiL much is left behind ; 
Still nobler wealth hast thou in store, — 

I'he comforts of the mind ! 

Thine js the self-approving glow, 

Oc conscious honor's part ; 
And, dearest gift of Heav'n below, 

Thine friendship's truest heart. 

The joys refin'd of sense and taste, 

With every muse to rove ; 
And doubly were the Poet blest. 

These joys could he improve 



i5a 



TO A YOUNG LADY, 

MISiS JESSr L , DUMFRIES; WITH BOOKS WHIti 

THE BARD PRESE.VTEU HER. 

Thixe be the volumes. Jessy fair, 
And with them take the Poet's prayer; 
Tnat Fate may, in her fairest page. 
With ev'ry kindliest, best presage 
i)f future bliss, enrol thy name. 
With native worth and spotless fame, 
And wakeful caution, still aware 
Of ill — but chief, man's felon snare; 
All blameless joys on earth we rtnd, 
And all the treasures of the mind: 
These oe thy guardian and reward, 
So prays thy faithful friend, the Bard. 



I5(> BURMS'S POEMS 



VERSES 

W^RITrE.-* ON THE BLA.NK LKaF OF A COPY OF hU 
POEMS, PRESENTED TO AM OLD SWEETHEART, TUK9 
MARRIED. 

Once fondly lovM, and still remember'd dear. 

Sweet early object of my youthful vowa, 
Accept this mark of friendEhip, warm, sincere, — 

Friendship! — 'tis all cold duty now allows. 
And when you read the jimple, artless rhymes, 

One friendly sigh for him, he asks no more, 
Who distant burns in flaming, torrid climes. 

Or haply lies beneath the Atlantic roar. 



TO J. S****. 



Frieiicl^liipl mysterious cement of the soul. 

J^weet'uer of life, and solder of soeieiy! 

I owe lliee much. Blaib 

Dear S****, the sleest, paukie thief, 
That e'er attempted stealth or rief. 
Ye surely hae some warlock-breei" 

Owre himian heart^j ; 
For ne'er a bosom yet was prief 

Against your arts. 

For me, I swear by sun and moon 
And ev'rv sUir that blinks aboon, 



BURNS S POEMfl. 19* 

Ve've cost me t\renty pair o' shcitui, 
Just gaun to see you ; 

And cv'ry ither pair that's done, 

Mair ta'en I'm wi' you. 

That auld capricious carlin, Nature, 
To niak amends for scrimpit stature, 
She's turn'd you aff' a human creature 

On her first plan. 
And in her freaks, on ev'ry feature, 

She's wrote the Man. 

Just now I've ta'en the fit o' rhyme. 
My barmie noddle's working prime, 
My fancie yerkite up sublime, 

Wi' hasty summon; 
Hae ye a leisure moment's time 

To hear what's corain ^ 

Some rhyme, a neebor's name to lash ; 
Some rhyme, (vain thought !) for needfu' cask 
Some rhyme to court the countra clash. 

An' raise a din ; 
For me, an aim I never fash ; 

1 rhyme for fun! 

The star that rules my luckless lot, 

Has fated me the russet coat^ 

And damn'd my fortune to the groat 

But in requit. 
Has bless'd me wi' a random shot 

O' countra wit. 

This wjiile my notion's ta'en a cklent, 
To try my fate in guid black prent ; 
1^ 



BURxVS S POKMs. 

But Still t)ie mair I'm that way bont, 
Something cries, " Hoolie 

I rede you, honest man, tak tent ! 
Ye'll shaw your folly 

"There's ither poets, much your betters. 
Far seen in Greek, deep men o' letters, 
Hae thought they had insur'd their debtoii 

A' future ages ; — 
Now moths deform, in shapeless tatters, 

Their unknown pages." 

Then fareweel hopes o' laurel-boughs, 
To garland my poetic brows ! 
Henceforth I'll rove where busy ploughs 

Are whistling thrang. 
An' teach the lanely heights and howes 

My rustic sang. 

I'll wander on wi' tentless heed, 
How never-halting moments speed, 
Till fate shall snap the brittle thread; 

Then, all unknown, 
ni lay me with th' inglorious dead. 

Forgot and gone! 

But why, O Death, begin a tale? 
Just now we're living, sound, and hale! 
Then top and maintop crowd the sail,- 

Heave Care o'er-side! 
And large, before Enjoyment's gale. 

Let's tak the tide. 

This life, sae far's I understand 
Is a' enchanted, fairy land. 



BURNS'S POEMS. IS^ 

Where Pleasure is the magic wand 

That, wielded right, 
Eilaks hours, like minutes, hand in hand. 

Dance by fu' light. 

The magic wand then let us wield, 
For, ance that five-an'-forty's speel'd 
See crazy, weary, joyless Eild, 

Wi' wrinkled face. 
Comes hostin, hirplin owre the field, 

VVi' creepin pace. 

When ance life's day draws near the gloamin, 
Then fareweel vacant, careless roamin, 
An' fareweel cheerfu' tankards foamin. 

An' social noise ; 
An' fareweel dear, deluding Woman, 

The joy of joys ! 

O life ! how pleasant in thy morning ! 
Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning! 
Cold, pausing Caution's lessons scorning, 

We frisk away. 
Like school-boys, at th' expected warning 

To joy and play. 

We wander there, we wander here, 
We eye the rose upon the brier, 
Unmindful that the thorn is near. 

Among the leaves ; 
And, though the puny wound appear, 

Short while it grieves. 

Some, lucky, find a flow'ry spot, 

for which. they never toil'd nor swat; 



Ifii) BL'RNS'S POEMS. 

They drink the sweet, and eat the fat 

But care or pain ; 
And haply eye the barren hnt 
With high disdain. 

Wi'ii steady aim, some Fortune chase ; 
Keen Hope does ev'ry sinew brace ; 
Thro' fair, thro' foul, they urge the race 

And seize the prey ; 
Then canie, in some cozie place, 

They close tlie day. 

And others, like your humble servan*. 
Poor wights! nae rules nor roads ohsen 
To right or left eternal swcrvin, 

They zig-zag on ; 
Till curst with age, obscure an' starvin, 

They aften groan. 

Alas ! what bitter toil an' straining — 
But, truce with peevish, poor complaining 
Is Fortune's fickle Luna waning? 

E'en let her ^ang ! 
Beneath what light she has remairing. 

Let's sing our sang. 

My pen I here fling to the door, 

And kneel, " Ye Powers ! " and wan' 'mjiloif 

"Tho' I should wander Terra o'er, 

In all her climes. 
Grant me but this, I' ask no more, 

Ay rowtli o' rhymes. 

"Gie dreeping roasts to countra lairda 
Till icicles hing frae their beards 



BL'R.NS'S POEMS. 16' 

Gie fine braw claes to fine Life-Ouards, 
And Maids o' Honor; 

And yill an' ulnskev gie to Cairda, 
Until they sconner. 

" A title Dempster merits it ; 
A garter gie to Willie Pitt; 
Gie wealth to souje beleg-er'd cit, 

In cent, per cent ; 
But gie me real, sterling wit, 

And I'm content. 

" While ye are pleas'd to keep me hala^ 
I'll sit down o'er my scanty meal, 
Be't water-brose, or mnslin-kail, 

Wi' clieerfu' face. 
\s lang's the Muses dinna fail 

To say tlie grace." 

An anxious e'e 1 never throws 
Behint my lug, or by my nose » 
I jouk beneath Misfortune's blows 

As weel's I may : 
Sworn foe to Sorrow, Care, and Proae; 

I rhyme away. 

O ye douce folk, that live by rule, 
Grave, tideless-bloody, calm, and cool, 
Compar'd wi' you — O fool ! fool ! fooi 

How much unlike ! 
V:>ur hearts are just a standing pool: 

Your lives, a dyke ' 

Nfte hair-brain'd, sentimental tracea 
In your unletter'd nameless faces, 
14* 



In arioso trills and graces 

Ye never stray ; 
But, gravissimo, solemn basses 

V'e hum away. 

Ye are sae grave, nae doubt ye're wite ; 

Nae ferly tho' ye do despise 

The hairum scairum, ram-stam boya 

The rattlin squad: 
I see you upward cast your eyes — 

Ye ken the road. 

Whilst T — but I shall baud me there — 
Wi' you I'll scarce gang ony where; 
Then, Jamie, I shall say nae mair, 

But quat my sang, 
Content wi' you to mak a pair, 

Whare'er I gang. 



EPISTLE TO DAVIE, 

A BROTHER POET.* 

January — 
i. 

While winds frae aff Ben-Lomond blaw, 
And bar the doors wi' driving snaw, 

And hing us owre the ingle, 
1 sit me down to pass the time, 
And spin a verse or twa o' rhyme, 

In hamely westlin jingle. 

• David Sillar, one of the Olulj at Tarbohoii, and author of a 
■f Pcervg m ibe Scoiiisli dialect. 



BLRNS's POEMS. I(»3 

While fr'isty winds olaw in the drift, 

Ben to tlie chim'a hig', 
I grudge a wee the great folks' gift, 
That live sae hien and snug: 
I tent less, and want less, 

Their roomy fire-side; 
But hanker and canker, 
To see their cursed pride. 



It's hardly in a body's pow'r 

To keep at times frae being sour 

To see how things are shar'd ; 
How best o' duels are wjiiles in want, 
While coofs on countless thousands rant, 

And ken na how to wair't : 
But, Davie, lad, ne'er fash your head, 

Tho' we hae little gear. 
We're fit to win our daily bread, 
Ab lang's were hale and fier ; 
" Mair spier na, no fear na,"* 
Auld age ne'er mind a feg. 
The last o't, the warst o't, 
Is only fur to beg. 



To lie m kilns and barns at e'en. 
When banes are craz'd and bluid is thin, 

Is, doubtless, great distress ! 
Yet then content could make us blest; 
Ev'n then, sometimes we'd snatch a taste 

Of truest happiness. 
The honest iieart tliat's free frae a' 



Ramsey 



•*'4 BUR.NS'S POEMS. 

Intondcd fraud or oruilo, 
However Fortune kick the ba*, 
Has ay some cause to smile; 
And mind still, you'll find still, 

A comfort this nae sina'; 
Nae mair then, we'll care then, 
Nae farther can we fa'. 



What tho', like commoners of air, 
We wander out we know not where, 

But either house or hal' ! 
Vet nature's charms, the hills and wooda 
The sweeping vales and foaming floods. 

Are free alike to all. 
Wi days when daisies deck the ground. 

And blackbirds whistle clear, 
Niih honest joy our hearts will bound, 
To see the coming year: 

On braes when we please, then, 

We'll sit an' sowth a tune ; 
Syne rhyme till't, we'll time till't, 
And sintr't when we hae done. 



It's no in titles nor in rank, 

It's no in wealth like Lon'on bank, 

To purchase peace and rest ; 
It's no in makin muckle mair, 
It's no in books, it's no in iear, 

To make us truly blest; 
If happiness hae not her seat 

And centre in the breast, 
We may be wise, or rich, or great, 

But never can be blest: 



, 



Nae treasures, nor pleasurej. 
Could make us happy lang 

The heart's ay the part ay 

That makes us right or wranjf 



Think ye, that sic as you and I, 

Wha drudge an' drive thro' wet an diy, 

Wi' never ceasing toil ; 
Think ye, are we less blest than they, 
Wha scarcly tent us in their way, 

As hardly worth their while ? 
Alas ! how aft, in haughty mood, 

God's creatures they oppress ! 
Or else, neglecting a' that's guid. 
They riot in excess ! 

Baith careless and fearless 
Of either heav'n or hell ! 
Esteeming, and deeming 
It's a' an idle tale ! 

VII. 

Then let us cheerfu' acquiesce, 
Nor make our scanty pleasures lesa, 

By pining at our state ; 
And, even should misfortunes come, 
I, here wha sit, hae met wi' some, 

An' 's thankfu' for them yet. 
They gie the wit of age to youth ; 

They let us ken oursel , 
They make us see the naked truth, 

The real guid and ill. 
Tho' losses and crosses 
Be lessons rigiit severe^ 



166 BURNS's I-OEMS. 

There's wit there, ye'Il get mere, 
Yo'U find na other where. 



But tent me, Davie, ace o' hearts! 

(To say aught less wad wrang the carte*, 

And flatt'ry 1 detest;) 
This life has joys for you and I : 
And joys that riches ne'er could bay; 

And joys the very best 
There's a' the pleasures o' the heart. 

The lover an' the frien' : 
Ye hae your Meg, your dearest part, 
And I my darling Jean I 
It warms me, it charms me, 

To mention bu* her name : 
It heats me, it b^ets me, 
And sets me a' ou flame' 



O, all ye Pow'rs who rul^ above ! 
O Thou, whose very self ar* love ! 
Thou know'st my words sincere! 
The life-blood streaming thro' aiy heaiti 
Or my more dear immortal part 

Is not more fondly dear: 
When heart-corroding care and pi«f 

Deprive my soul of rest, 
Her dear idea brings relief 
And solace to my breast 
Thou Being, All-seeing, 

O iiear my fervent pray'r 

Still take her, and make hei 

Thy most peculiar care' 



BCKXS S POEMS. 16* 



All hail, ye tender feelings dear! 
The smile of love, the friendly tear, 

The sympathetic glow ; 
Long since, this world's tliorny wayi 
Had number'd out my weary days, 

Had it not been for you! 
Fate still has blest me with a frieno 

In every care and ill ; 
And oft a more endearing band, 
A tie more tender still. 
It lightens, it brightens, 
The tenebrific scene, 
To meet with, and greet with, 
My Davie or my Jean. 



O, how that name inspires my style ! 
The words come skelpin rank and file, 

Amaist before I ken! 
The ready measure rins as fine. 
As Phoebus and the famous Nine 

Were glowrin owre my pen. 
My spaviet Pegasus will limp, 

Till ance he's fairly het; 
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp^ 
An' rin an unco fit : 
But lest then, the beast then, 
Should rue this hasty ride, 
ril light now, and dight now, 
His sweaty, vrizenM hide. 



168 BCRr« i*S FOEMS 



TO THE SAME. 

iCLD nCEBOR, — 

I'm three times doubly o er your debtor 
For your auld-farrant, frien'ly letter, 
7'ho' I maun say't, I doubt ye flatter, 

Ye speak sae fair ; 
For my puir, silly, rhymin' clatter, 

Some less maun sair. 

Hale be your heart, hale be your fiddle 
Lang may your elbuck jink and diddle. 
To cheer you thro' the weary widdle 

O' wp.r'ly cares, 
Till bairns' bairns kindly cuddle 

Your auld gray hairs. 

But, Davie, lad, I'm red ye're glaikit : 
I'm tauld the Muse ye hae negleckit, 
An' gif it's sae, ye sud be licket 

Until ye fyke; 
Sic hauns as you sud ne'er be faikit, 

Be hain't wha like. 

For me, I'm on Parnassus' brink, 
Rivin the words tae gar them clink ; 
Whyles daez't wi' love, whyles daez't wi' diink. 

Wi' jads or masons; 
An whyles, but ay owre late, I think 

Braw sober lessons. 



BURNS'S POEMS. I6i 

Of a' tlic tlionjrhtless sons o' man, 
Commen' me to tlie Bardie clan ; 
Except it be some idle plan 

O' rhymin' clin,i. 
The dsvil-haet, that I sud ban, 

They ever think. 

Nae tliought, nae view, nae scheme o' i vin 
Nae cares tae gie us joy or grievin'; 
But jufet tJie pouchie put the nieve in 

An' while aught's there. 
Then hlltie, skiltie, we gae scrievin'. 

An' fash nae mair. 

Leeze me on rhyme! it's ay a treasure, 
My chief, amaist my only pleasure, 
At hame, a-fiel', at wark or leisure. 

The Muse, poor hizzie, 
Tho' rough an raploch be her measure 

She's seldom lazy. 

Hand tae the Muse, my daintie Davie' 
The war]' may play you monie a shavie, 
But for the Muse, she'll never leave ye, 

Tho' e'er sae puir ; 
Na ev*n tho' limpin wi' the spavie 

Frae door to door. 
15 



170 BURiVS S POEMS. 



EPISTLE TO J. LAPRAIK, 

Art OLD SCOTTISH BARD, APRIL 1, 1785. 

While briers an' woodbines budding ^e*ii. 
An' paitricks scraichin loud at e'en, 
An' morning poussie whiddin seen, 

Inspire my Muse, 
This freedom in an unknown frien 

I pray excuse. 

On fasteen-e'en we had a rockm, 

To ca' the crack and weave our stockin, 

And tliere was muckle fun an' jokin 

Ye need na doubt : 
At length we had a hearty yokin 

At sang about 

There was ae sang, atnang the rest, 
Aboon them a' it pleas'd me best. 
That some kind husband had addrest 

To some sweet wife ; 
It thrill'd the heart-strings thro' the breast^ 

A' to the life. 

I've scarce heard aught describe sae wee^ 
What gen'rous, manly bosoms feel ; 
Thought I, "Can this be Pope, or Steel«» 

Or Beattie's wark ? " 
They told me 'twas an odd kind c'liel 

About Muirkirk. 



Bu'R-NS S FOF.M9. 17 

It pat me fidgin-fa-n to hear't, 
Ai.d sae about him there 1 spier't, 
Then a' that kent him round declar'd 

He had ingine, 
That nane excell'd it, few cam neai\ 

It was sae fine. 

That set him to a pint of ale, 

An' either douce or merry tale. 

Of rhymes an' sangs he'd made himsel. 

Or witty catches, 
*Tween Inverness and Teviotdale, 

He had few matches. 

Then up T gat, an' swore an aith, 

Tho' I should pawn my pleugh and graito. 

Or die a cadger-pownie's death, 

At some dyke-back, 
A pint an' gill I'd gie them baith 

To hear your crack. 

But first an' foremost, I should tell, 
Amaist as soon as I could spell 
I to the crambo-jingle fell, 

Tho' rude an' rough, 
Yet crooning to a body's sel. 

Does weel enough. 

I am nae poet, ir a sense. 

But just a rhymer, like, by chance 

An' hae to learning nae pretence; 

Yet what tha matter ? 
Whene'er my Muse does on me glanco. 

I jingle at her 



172 BLRNS'S POEMS. 

Your critic-folk may cock their nose, 
And say, " How can you e'er propose, 
You wha ken hardly verse frae prose. 

To mak a sang ? " 
But, by yo"r leaves, my learned foea 

Ye're may be wrang. 

What's a' your argon o' your schools, 
Your Latin names for horns an' stools, 
If honest Nature made you fools ? 

What sairs your grammars? 
Ye'd better taen up spades and shools, 

Or knappin-hammers. 

A set o' dull, conceited hashes 
Confuse their brains in college classes ! 
They gang in stirks, and come out asseij 

Plain truth to speak ; 
An' syne tliey think to climb Parnassus 

By dint o' Greek 1 

Gie me ae spark o' Nature's fire. 

That's a' the learning I desire ; 

Then, tho' I drudge thro' dub an' mire, 

At pleugh or cart, 
My Muse, tho' hamely in attire. 

May touch the heart 

O for a spunk o' Allan's glee, 

Or Fergusson's, the bauld and slee, 

Or bright Lapraik's, my friend to bo, 

If I can hit it ! 
Tlurt would be lear enough for me. 

If I could get it ' 



BURMSS POKMS. iTJ 

Now sir, if ye hac friends enow, 
Tho real friends, I b'lieve, are few. 
Vet, if your catalogue be fou, 

I'se no insist; 
Bui gif ye want a friend that'a true, 

I'm on your list. 

I winna blaw about mysel; 

As ill I like my fauts to telJ ; 

But friends and folk that wish me well 

They sometimes roose me 
The' I maun own, as monie still 

As far abuse me. 

There's ae wee faut they whyles lay to mo - 

1 like the lasses — Gude forgie me! 

For monie a plack tiiey wheedle frae me, 

At dance or fair; 
May be, some ither thing they gie me, 

They weel can spare. 

But Mauchline race, or Maucldine fair, 
I should be proud to meet you there ; 
We'se gie ae night's discharge to care, 

If we forgather. 
An' hae a swap o' rhymin-ware 

Wi' anc anithor. 



The four-gill chap, we'se gar him clatter, 

An' kirsen him wi' reek in water ; 

Sync we'll sit down an' tak our whitter, 

To cheer our heart ; 
.^n' faith, we'se be acquainted better 

IJefore we purL 
l.V 



174 BURNS'S POEMS. 

Awa, ye scllish, warly race, • 

Wlia think that havins, sense an' grace, 

Ev'n love and friendship should give place 

To catch-the-plack ! 
I dinna like to see your face, 

Nor hear your crack. 

But ye whom social pleasure charms, 
Whose hearts the tide of kindness warraa, 
Who hold your being on the terms, — 

" Each aid the others ! " 
Come to my bowl, come to my arms, 

My friends, my brothers ! 

But, to conclude my lang epistle, 

As my auld pen's worn to the grissle, 

Twa Imes frae you wad gar me fissle, 

Who am, most fervent. 
While I can either sing or whissle, 

Your friend and servant. 



TO THE SAME. 
APRIL 21, 1785. 

While new-ca'd kye rout at the stake, 
An' pownies reek in pleugh or braik. 
This hour on e'enin's edge I take, 

To own I'm debtor 
To' honest-hearted, auld Lapi-aik, 

For his kind letter. 



BURNS'S P0EM9 175 

Porjesket sair, with weary legs, 
Rattlin the corn out owre the rigs. 
Or dealing thro' amang the nags 

Their ten-hours' bite, 
My awkwart Muse sair pleads and hega 

I would na write. 

Tlie tapetless, ramfeezl'd hizzie, 

She's saO. at best, and something lazy ; 

Quo' she^ " Ye ken we've been sae busy 

This month an' mair. 
That, tjoutli, my head is grown right dizzia. 

And soinetliing sair." 

Her djwff excuses pat me mad : 

" Con^icience ! " says I, " ye thowless jad ' 

I'll write, an' that a hearty blaud, 

This vera night ; 
So f" nna ye affront your trade, 

But rhyme it right. 

S'.all bauld Lapraik, the king o' hearts, 
T»-/ mankind were a pack of cartes, 
Rro^e you sae weel for your deserts. 

In terms sae friendly, 
Y {t ye'll neglect to show your parts, 

And thank him kindly ' '' 

,'Jae I gat paper in a blink. 

And down gaed stumpie in the ink ; 

Q,ucth I, " Before I sleep a wink. 

I vow I'll close it; 
An' if you winna mak it clink, 

By Jove I'll prose it * '' 



ITC burns''! pokms. 

Sae I've begun to scrawl, but whether 

In rhyme or prose, or baith the^ither, 

Or some iiotch-potch that's rig-htly neitliet^ 

Let tune mak proof; 
But I shall scribble down some blether 

Just clean aff-loof. 

My worthy friend, ne'er grudge an' carp^ 
Tho' fortune use you hard an' sharp; 
Come, kittle up your moorland harp 

Wi' gleesome touch ! 
Ne'er mind how Fortune waft an' warp 

She's but a b-tch. 

She's gien me monie a jest an' fleg 
Sin' I could striddle owre a rig ; 
But, by the l. — d, tho' I should beg 

VVi' layart pow, 
I'll laugh an' sing, an' shake my leg, 

As lang's I dow ! 

Now comes the sax-an'-twentieth simraei 
I've seen tlie bud upo' the timmer, 
Sail persecuted by the limmer, 

Frae year to year ; 
But yet, despite the kittle kimmer, 

I, Rob, am here. 

Do ye envy the city gent. 

Behind a kist to lie and skient, 

l>r purse-proud, big wi' cent per centy 

And inuckle wane, 
tn some bit burgh to represent 

A bailie's name ? 



BURNS S POKM3. 177 

?'t the paughty, feudal tliarre, 
uffled sark an' glancing cane 
.«na thinks himsel nae sheep-shank bano, 

But lordly stalks, 
While caps and bonnets aff are t^ea. 
As by he walks ? 

" O Thou, wha gies us each guid gift, 
Gie me o' wit an' sense a lifl, 
Then turn me, if Thou please, adrift, 

Thro' Scotland wide; 
Wi' cits nor lairds I wadna shift. 

In a' their pride ! " 

Were this the charter of our state — 
** On pain of hell be rich an' great," 
Damnation then would be our fate. 

Beyond reinead ; 
But, tlianks to Heav'n I that's no the gate 

We learn our creed : — 

For thus the royal mandate ran. 
When first the human race began — 
**The social, friendly, honest man, 

Whate'er he be, 
•Tis he fulfils great Nature's plan. 

An' none but he!" 

O, mandate glorious and divine ! 
The ragged followers of the Nine, 
Foor thoughtless devils! yet may shiiM 

Tm glorious light ; 
While sordid sons of Mammon's line 

Arc dark as night 



178 BURNS'S POElWn. 

Tho' here they scrape, an' sqiiee»y., ra' |:iO«»l 
Their worthless, neivefu' of a r/rJ 
May in some future carcass h)wL 

The forest frigh*. ; 
Or in some day-detesting owl 

May shun the y^[(hi. 

Then may Lapraik and Bur^^s arise. 
To reach their native, kindied skies, 
And a'ng their pleasures, hopes, an* jojri 

In some mild sphere. 
Still closer knit in friendship's ties 

Each passings year! 



TO W. S*****N. 

OCHILTREE, NAY, 1785, 

I GAi' your letter, winsome Willie; 
Wi' grateful heart I thank you brawlia 
Tho* I maun say't, I wad be silly. 

An* unco vain. 
Should I believe, my coaxin billy, 

Your flatt'rin strain 

But I'se believe ye kindly meant it; 
I sud be laith to think ye hinted 
Ironic satire, sidelins sklented, 

On my poor Musie ; 
Tho* in sic phraisin terms veVe penD'd it 

I scarce excuse yie 



BURIfS's POEMS. IT 

My senses wad be in a creel, 
Should I but dare a hope to speel, 
Wi' Allan, or wi' Gilbertfield, 

The braes o' fame ; 
Or Fergusson, the writer-chiel, 

A deathless name. 

(O Fergusson! thy glorious parts 

ID suited law's dry, musty arts ! 

My curse upon your whunstane hearti, 

Ye E'nburgh gentry! 
The tithe o* what ye waste at cartes 

Wad stow'd his pantry !) 

Yet when a tale comes i' my head, 

Or lasses gie my heart a screed, 

As whyles they're like to be my dead, 

(O, sad disease !) 
I kittle up my rustic reed, — 

It gies me ease. 

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain» 

She's gotten poets o* her ain, 

Chiels wha their chanters winna h&ia, 

But tune their lays 
Till echoes a' resound again 

Her weel-sung praise. 

i<ae poet thought her worth his whilt 
To set her name in measur'd style .' 
She lay like some unkenn'd-of isle 

Beside New Hc^lland, 
Or whare wild-meeting ocean • boil 

Besouth Magella u 



180 BURNS'S POEMS. 

Ramsay an' famous Ferguspori 
Gled Forth an' Tay a lift aboc») ; 
Yarrow an' Tweed, to monie a tune, 

Owre Scotland rings ; 
While Irwin, Lugar, Ayr, an' Doon, 

Nae body sings. 

Th' missus, Tiber, Thames, an' Seine, 
Glide sweet in monie a tunefu' line! 
But, Willie, set your fit to mine, 

An' cock your crest; 
We'U gar our streams and burnies shiiM 

Up wi' the best 

We'll sing auld Coila's plains an' felk. 
Her moors red-brown wi' heather bells, 
Her banks and braes, her dens an' dellt, 

Where glorious Wallace 
Afl bure tlie gree, as story tells, 

Frae Southron billies. 

At Wallace's name, what Scottish blood 
But boils up in a spring-tide flood.'' 
Oft have our fearless fathers strode 

By Wallace's side. 
Still pressing onward, red-wat shod. 

Or glorious died. 

O sweet are Coilas haughs an' wooda, 
When lintwhites chant amang the budi, 
And jinkin hares, in amorous whids. 

Their loves enjoy. 
While tl 0* the braes the cushat croodi 

Wi' wailfu' crv ! 



BURNS's FOEMS. 181 

Ev'n winter bleak has charms to me, 
W^hen winds rave thro' the naked tree; 
Or frosts on lulls of Ochiltree 

Are hoary j^ray ; 
Of blinding drifts wild furious flse, 

Dark'ning the day ! 

O Nature! a' thy shews an forms 

To feeling, pensive hearts hae chamui' 

Whether the summer kindly warms 

Wi' life an' light, 
Or winter howls, in gusty storms, 

The lang, dark nigLt? 

The Muse, nae poet ever fand her, 
Till by himsel he learn'd to wander, 
Adown some trotting burn's meander, 

An' no think lang ! 
O, sweet to stray an' pensive ponder 

A heart-felt sang ! 

The warly race triay drudge an' drive, 
Hog-shoutli^- jundie, stretch, an' strive^ 
Let me fair I'iature's face descrive. 

And I, wi' pleasure, 
Shall let tlie busy, grumbling hive 

Bum owre their treasure. 

i^'areweel, "my rhyme-composing brither'* 
We've been owre lang unkenn'd to itliejf* 
Now let us lay our heads thegither, 

In love fraternal : 
May Envy wallop iu a tether. 

Black fiend, infernal ' 
16 



192 eURNS's POEMB. 

While ni(,^lilan(liiien hate tolls an* taxes, 
While moorlan' herds like j^uid fat braxiet. 
While terra finna on her axis 

Diurnal turns, 
Count on a friend, in faith an' practice, 

In RoBKRT BUR?I9. 



POSrsCRIPT. 

My memory'a no worth a preen ; 

I had amaist forgotten clean. 

Ye bade nie write you what they mean 

By this New Light,* 
'Bout which our herds sae aft hae beer 

Maist like to fight. 

In days wjien mankind were but callans 

At grammar, logic, and sic talents. 

They took nae pains their speech to balance 

Or rules to gie. 
But spak their thoughts in plain, braid Lalltac 

Like you or me. 

In thae auid times, they thought the zjuin 
Ju*«t like a sark, or pair o' shoon, 
Wore by degrees, till her isist roon, 

Gaed past their viewin'; 
An' shortly after she was done, 

They gat a new one. 



• New I.ig-iu, » runt phrji?*^. in tii? West of S'^otlaxid, ft**- those r«Jlf 
■Hu ii|>iniuiia wliicli Dr. TayUir oi' Nurwicu, 'Jcfended i$o strenuouslT 



iSh 



This ^''.a&t for ceiiJtiH, UMdisputcd ; 

Ft ne'er caai in the.* urtads to doubt it 

Till cliiels gat up ai^d wad confute it. 

An' ca'd it «vrang; 
An' muckle din there wsis about it, 

Bailli loud and lang. 

Some herds, weel learn'd upo' the beuk^ 
Wad threap auld folk the thing misteuk 
For 'twas the auld moon turn'd a neuk. 

An' out o' sight, 
An* backllns-comhi, to the leuk, 

She grew mair bright. 

This was denied, it was affirm'd; 

The herds an' hissles were alarm'd ; 

The rev'rend gray-beards rav'd an' stonn'd, 

That beardless laddies 
Should think they better were inform'd 

Than their auld daddies. 

Frae less to mair it gaed to sticks ; 
Frae words an' aiths to blours an' nicks 
And monie a fallow gat his licks, 

Wi' hearty crunt ; 
An' some, to learn them for their tricks, 

Were hang'd an' br^nt. 

This game was play'd in monie lands, 
An' auld light caddies bure sic hands, 
That, faith, the youngsters took the sands 

Wi' nimble shanks. 
Till airds forbade, by strict commands. 

Sic bluidy pranks. 



184 BUR.-Vd S POKMh. 

\\\a now-li^ht herds jurat sic a cotre. 
Folk thought thein riiiu'd stick an stawe^ 
TjII now ainaist on ev'ry knowe, 

Ve'l! find ane plac'd; 
An' some, their new-light fair avow, 

Jnst quite bare-fac'd. 

Nae doubt the auld-light flocks are bleatin; 
Their zealous herds are vex'd an* sweatin ; 
Mysel, I've even seen them greotin, 

Wi' girnin spite, 
To hear the moon sae sadly lied on. 

By word an' write. 

But b'nortly they will cowe the louns ; 
Some auld-light herds in neebor towns 
Are mind't, in things they ca' balloona, 

To tak a flight, 
An' stay ac n)onth ainang the moons, 

An' see them right 

Guid observation they will gie them, 

An' when the auld moon's gaun to lea'e them 

The hindmost shaird, they'll fetch it wi' them, 

Just i' their pouch; 
An' whei the new-light billies see them, 

I think they'll crouch ! 



Sae ye observe th-* a' this clatter 
Is naething but a ''moonshine matter; 
But tho' di 11 prose-folk Latin splatter, 

In If>gic tulzie, 
I hope we Dan lies ken some better 

Than mind sic brulzie 



BiRNS^S POEMS. IM 



LPISTLE TO J. R*****» 

ENCLOSING SOME POEMS. 

O EJUGH, rude, ready-witted R******, 
The wale o' cocks foi- fun and drinkin 
There's monie godly folks are thinkin, 

Your dreams* an' tricks 
Will send you, Korah-like, a sinkin, 

Straight to auld Nick's. 

Ye hae sae monie cracks an' cants, 
And in your wicked, drucken rants, 
Ye mak a devil o' the saunts, 

And fill them fou ; 
And then their failings, flaws, an' wanta, 

Are a' seen thro'. 

Hypocrisy, in mercy spare it! 
That holy robe, O dinna tear it! 
Spar't for their sakes wha aften wear it. 

The lads in black; 
But your curst wit, when it cornes near it, 

Rives't aflT their back. 

Think, wicked sinner, wha ye're ekaithing, 
It's just the blue-gown badge an' claiUiing 



' A ccram humorous dreair. of liis ^-as tlu^n maii.iig a uoist iu tlM 
iniry-Biilc. 

16» 



18<» BURNS'S POEMS. 

O' saunts ; tak that, ye lea'e them naJthinf 

To ken them by, 
Frae ony unref^en'rate heathen. 

Like you or I. 

I've sent you* here some rhyming ware, 
A* that I barg"ain'd for, an' mair ; 
Sae, when ye hae an hour to spare, 

I will expect 
Your sang,* ye'U sen't wi' cannie care, 

And no neglect 

Tho' faith, sma' iieart hae I to sing ! 
My Muse dow scarcely spread her wing 
I've play'd mysel a bonie spring, 

An' danc'd my fill ! 
I'd better gaen an' sair'd the king, 

At Bunkers Hill! 

Twas ae night, lately, in my fun, 

1 gaed a roving wi' the gun, 

An' brought a paitrick to the grun, 

A bonie hen ; 
An', as the twilight was begun. 

Thought nane wad ken. 

The poor, wee thing was little hurt, 

I straikit it a wee for sport. 

Ne'er think in they wad fasii me for't, 

But doil-may-care ! 
Somebody tells the poacher-court 

The hale affair. 



A soiig he had promised the author. 



BURNS S POLMS IW 

Some j.uld-us'd hands had taen a note 
That sic a hen had got a shf*. ; 
I was suspcctod for the ph)t ; 

1 scorn'd to lie. 
So gat the whidsle o' my groat. 

An' pay't the fee. 

Bat, by my gun, o' guns the wale 
An' by my ])outher an' my hail, 
An' by my hen, an' by her tail, 

I vow an' swear ! 
The game shall pay, o'er moor an dal« 

Fur tJiis, nicst year 

As soon's the clockin-ti:ne is by. 
An' the wee pouts begin to cry, 
I, — tl, I'se hae sportin by an' by, 

For my gowd guinea, 
Tho' I should herd the buckskin kye 

For't in Virginia. 

Trowth, they had muckle for to blame 
Twas neither broken wing nor limb, 
But tsv-a-tliree draps about tiie wame, 

Scarce thro' the feat'iera 
An baith a yellow George to claim. 

An' tKole tiicir bletherfe ! 



It pits me ay as mad's a hare; 

So I can rhyme nor write nae mair 

But pennyworths again is fair, 

Wlion time's expedient 
Meanwhile, I am, respected sir, 

Vour most obedienL 



IM BURNS'S POEMS. 



TO DR. BLACKLOt.K. 

ELLISLAND, OCTOBER, 21, 1789 

Wow, but your letter made me vauntie . 
And are ye hale, and weel, and cantie " 
I kenn'd it still your wee bit jauntie 

Wad bring ye to : 
Lord send ye ay as weel's I want ye, 

And then ye'll do. 

The ill-thief blaw the Heron* south ! 
And never drink be near his drouth' 
He tald mysel, by word o' moutii. 

He'd tak n)y letter ; 
I lippen'd to the chiel in trouth. 

And bade nae better. 

But aiblins honest Master Heron 
Had at the time some dainty fair one, 
To ware his theologic care on, 

And h(»ly .study ; 
And tir'd o' sauls to waste his lear on 

E'en tried the body. 

But what d'ye think, my trusty fier, 
I'jn turn'd a guager — peace be here i 
Parnassian queens, I fear, I fear 

Ye'll now disdain me; 

Mr. ITcroii. autlior of a Flisiory of Scoiland, and varioun othei 



BURNS s pueivis 

And then my fifty pounds a year 
Will little gain me. 

Ye glaikit, gleesome, daintie damies 
Wha, by Castalia's wimplin streamies, 
Lowp, sing, and lave your pretty lirabiei, 

Ye ken, ye ken 
That Strang necessity supreme is 

'Mang sons o' men. 

1 hae a wife an' twa wee laddies ; 

They maun hae brose and brats o' duddiet 

Ye ken yoursels my heart right proud is, 

I need nae vaunt, 
But I'll sned besoms — thraw saugh woodiei, 

Before they want. 

Lord help me thro' this warld o' care ' 
I'm weary, sick o't late and air! 
Not but I hae a richer share 

Than monie ithers : 
But why should ae man better fare, 

And a' men brithers.? 

Come, Firm Resolve, take thou the van, 

Thou stalk o' carl-hemp in man! 

And let us mind, fan:t heart ne'er wan 

A lady-fair ; 
Wha does the utmost that he can. 

Will tvhyles do main 

But to conclude my silly rhyme, 
(I'm scant o' verse, and scant o' time,) 
To make a happy fire-side clime 
To weans and wife* 



S90 BURNS S FOEM9. 

That's tlie true natlios and sublime 
Of human life. 

My compliments to sister Beckie ; 
And eke the same to honest Lucky, 
( wat she is a dainty cliuckie, 

As e'er trod clay ! 
An' gratefully, my guid auld cockie, 

I'm yours for ay. 

Robert Busn 



TO COLONEL DE PEYSTER. 

DUMFRIFS, 179Gw 

Mf Lonor'd Colonel, deep I feel 
Yuu int'rest in the Poet's weal; 
Ah i how sma' heart ha* I to speel 

The steep Parnassus, 
Sum mded thus by bolus pill, 

And potion glasses. 

O, t^fiat a cantie world were it. 

Would pain, and care, and sickness spare it ; 

And fortune favor worth and merit, 

As they deserve: 
(And ay a rowth, roast-beef and claret ; 

Syne wha wad starve ?) 

Dame Life, tho' fiction out may trick her, 
And in paste gems and fripp'ry deck her} 
Oh! flick'ring, feeble, and unsicker 
I've found her still. 



BCRiNS's POEMS. 19' 

Ay wav'ring like the willow wicker. 
'Tween good and ill. 

Then that curst carmagnole, auld Satan, 
Watches, like baudrans by a rattan, 
Our sinfu* saul to get a claut on, 

Wi' felon ire ; 
Syne, whip ! his tail ye'll ne'er cast saut on, 

He's aff like fire. 

Ah, Nick ! ah, Nick ! it is na fair, 
First showing us the tempting ware, 
Bright wines and bonie lasses rare, 

To put us daft; 
Syne weave, unseen, thy spider snare, 

O' hell's damn'd waft. 

• 
Poor man, the flie, aft bizzies by, 
And aft as chance he comes thee nigh, 
rhy auld damn'd elbow yeuks wi* joy. 

And hellish pleasure ; 
\lrnady in thy fancy's eye 

Thy sicker treasure. 

Soon, heels o'er gowdie ! in he gangs, 
And, like a sheep-head on a tangs, 
Thy girning laugh enjoys his pangs 

And murd'ring wrestle, 
As, dangling in the w3nd, he hangs, 

A gibbet's tasseL 

But, lest you think 1 am uncivil, 

To plague you with this drpunting drivel^ 



Ij-^ BDRNS'S POEMS. 

Abjuring a' intentions evil, 
I qnat my pen: 

The Lord preserve ue frae the defil 
Amen I Amen ! 



LETTER 

TO J S T T GL NC — E. 

AuLi' comrade dear, and brither sinccrr. 
How's a' the folk about Gl— nc— r? 
How do you this blae eastlin wind, 
That's like to blaw a body blind ? 
For me, my faculties are frozen, 
My dearest member nearly dozen'd ! 
I've sent you here my Johnny Simson, 
Twa sage philosophers to glimpse on , 
Smith, wi' his sympathetic feeling. 
An' Reid to common sense appealing. 
Philosophers have fought an' wrangled, 
And meikle Greek an' Latin mangled, 
Till wi' their logic-jargon tir'd. 
An* in the depth of science mir'd, 
To common sense they now appeal 
What wives and wabsters see an' feel 
But hark ye, friend, I charge you stricrij 
Peruse them an' return them quickly; 
For now I'm grown sae cursed douce, . 
I pray an' ponder butt the house, 
My shins, my lane, I there sit roastin. 
Perusing B-uiyan, Br>wn, aud Bostoo 



EURxNS'S FOCMS UO 

TiU by an' by, if I baud on, 
1*11 grunt a real Gospel groan ; 
Already I begin to try it, 
To cast my een up like a pyet, 
When by the gun she tumbles o'er, 
Flutt'ring an gasping in her gore : 
Sae shortly you sliall see me bright, 
A burning an' a shining light. 

My heart-warm love to guid auld Glen, 
The ace an' wale of honest men ; 
When bending down with auld gray hairs. 
Beneath the load of years and cares, 
May he who made him still support him. 
An' views beyond the grave comfort him. 
His worthy fain'ly far and near, 
God bless them a' wi' grace and gear. 

My auld school-fellow, Preacher Willi^ 
The manly tar, my mason Billie, 
An' Auclienbay, I wish him joy ; 
If he's a parent, lass or boy. 
May he be dad, and Meg tlie mither, 
Just five-an'-foity years thegither ! 
An' no forgetting wabster Charlie, 
I'm ^auld he offers very fairly. 
An', L — d, remember singing Sannock, 
Wi' hale breeks, saxpence, an' a bannock; 
And next, my auld acquaintance, Nancy, 
Since she is fitted to her fancy ; 
An' her kind stars hae airted till her 
A guid chiel wi' a pickle siller. 
My kindest, best respects I sen' it. 
To cousin Kate, au' sister Janet ; 
Tell them frae me, wi' chiels be cautioun 
17 



194 BURNS*S FOEMS 

F'or faith, they'll aiblins fin* them fushiouf 

To grunt a heart is fairly civil, 

Bui to grant a maidenhead's the devil ! 

An' lastly, Jaime, for yoursel, 

May guardian angels tak a spell, 

An' steer you seven miles south o' hel! 

But first, before you see heav'n's glory, 

May ye get monie a merry story, 

Monie a laugh and monie a drink, 

An' ay enough o' needfu' clink. 

No\r fare ye weel, an' joy be wi' you ; 
, Fjr my sake this I beg it o' you. 
Assist poor Simson a' ye can, 
Ye'll fin' him just an honest man: 
Sae I conclude, and quat my chanter, 
Vour's, saint or sinner, 

Rob the Rantib 



TO MR. MITCHELL, 

COLLECTOR OF EXCISE, DUMFRIES) i796L 1 

Friend of tlie Poet, tried and lea!, 
Wha, wanting thee, might beg or steal • 
Alake, alake, the meikle deil 

Wi' a' his witches 
Are at it, skclpin! jig an' reel, 

In my poor pouches. 

I modestly, fu' fain wad hint it, 
That one pound one, I early want tf 



i 



BURNS'S POCMiS. 191 

i wi' iho hiz/ie down ye send it, 

IL would be kind; 
And while niy heart wi' lite-blood dunted, 

I'd bear't in mind. 

So may the auld year gang out moaning', 
To see the neAv come laden, groaning 
Wi' double plenty, o'er the loaning, 

To thee and thine ; 
Domestic peace and comforts crowning 

The hail desitrn. 



POSTSCRIPT 

Ve've heard this while how I've been liciiei, 
And by fell death was nearly nicket; 
Grun loun! he gut me by the fecket, 

And sail' me sheuk ; 
But, by good luck, I lap a wicket, 

And tiirn'd a neuk. 

But, by that health, I've got a sharo o% 
And by that lite, I'm promis'd mair o*t, 
My hale and weel I'll take a care o\ 

A tontier way ; 
Then tareweel folly, hide an' hair i % 

ifwr auce and aytu 



196 BURNS'S POEMS. 



rO THE GUIDWIP'E OF VVAUCIlOPR-UOLSfi 

H ANSWER TO XS EPISTLE WHICH SHE HilD BERI 
THE AUTHOR. 



Gvidwife : — 

I MIND it weel in early date, 

When I was beardless, young, and blate, 

And first could tiiresh the barn ; 
Or hand a yokin at the pleugh; 
An' tho' for foughten sair enough, 

Yet unco proud to leaiii : 
When first ainang the yellow corn 

A man I rec^on'd was, 
And wj' the lave ilk uierry morn; 
Could rank my rig and lass, 
Still shearing, and clearing 

The tither stooked raw, 
Wi' claivers, an' haivers, 
Wearing tho day awa. 



Ev'n then n wi{,h, 1 iui''«' t's powV, 
A wish that to tny latest hour 

Shall strongly heave my br'iast, 
That I, for poor anld Scotland's sake, 
Some usefu' plan or book cou'd make, 

Or sing a sang at least 
The rough burr-thistle, spreading wid» 

Amang tlie bearded bear, 



BURNS 9 POEMS. 

) turn'd the weeder-clips aside. 
An' spar'd the symbol dear; 
No nation, no station, 

My envy e'er could raise; 
A Scot still, but blot still, 
I knew nae higher praiso. 



But still the elements o' sang, 

In formless jumble, right an' wran^, 

Wild floated in my brain; 
Till on that har'st I said before, 
My partner m tne merry core, 

She rous'd the forming strain! 
I see her yet, the sonsie quean, 

That lighted up her jingle, 
Her witching smile, her pauky een. 
That gar't my heart-strings tingle* 
I fir'd, inspir'd, 

At ev'ry kindling keek, 
But bashing, and dashing 
1 feared ay to speak. 



Hai to the set ! ilk guid chiel sayg, 
Wi' merry dance in winter days, 

An' we to share in common; 
The gust o' joy, the balm o' wo, 
The saul o' life, the heav'n below, 

Is rapture-giving woman. 
Ye surly sumphs, who hate the nara«, 

Be mindfu' o' your mither ; 
She, honest woman, may think shame 

That ye're connected with her 
17* 



W BDRNS's POEMS. 

Ye're wao men, ye're nae men, 
That slight the lovely dears; 

To shame ye, disclaim ye, 
Ilk honest birkie swears. 



F)V you, na bred to barn or byre, 
Wha sweetly tune the Scottish lyre. 

Thanks to you for your line. 
The marled plaid ye kindly spare 
By me should gratefully be ware, 

'Twad please me to the Nine 
rd be mair vauntie o' my hap. 

Douse hinging o'er my curple, 
Than onie ermine ever lap, 
Or proud imperial purple. 

Fareweel, then, lang hale then 

An' plenty be your fa'. 
May losses and crosses 
Ne'er at your hallan ca'. 
March, 1787. R. Buani. 



TO J. RANKEN, 

mS WRITING TO THE AUTHOR THAT A OlftL HA I 
WITH CHILD BY HIM. 

I AM a keeper of the law 

In some sma' points, altho' not a'; 

Some people tell me gin I fa', 

Ae way or ther, 
The breaking of ae point, tho' sma', 

Breaks a' thegither. 



BURNS S POEMS. 

f hae beon in for't ance or twice, 
And winna say o'er far for thrice, 
Yet never met with that surprise 

That broke my rest; 
But iM)w a rumor's like to rise, 

A whaup's i' the neat 



11« 



ADDRESS 

TO AN ILLEGITIMATE CHILD. 

Teou's welcome, wean, mishanter fa' dm, 
If aught of tliee, or of thy mammy, 
Shall ever danton me, or awe me. 

My sweet wee lady, 
Or if 1 blush when thou shalt ca' me 

Tit-ta or daddy. 

Wee image of my bonie Betty, 

I fatherly will kiss an' daut thee. 

As dear an' near my heart I set thee, 

Wi' as guid will. 
As a' the priests had seen me get the€ 

That's out o' h-11. 

What tho' they ca' me fornicator. 
An' tease my name in kintry-clatter ; 
The mair they tank I'm keiit the better; 

E'en let thorn clash; 
An auld wife's tongue's a feckless inatta 

To gie ano faslu 



200 BUUNS'9 POEMS 

Sweet fruit o' monie a merry dint, 

My funny tiel is now a' tint, 

Sin' tiiou came to the war! asklent, 

Which fools may scoff at; 
In my last plack thy part's be in't — 

The better half o't. 

An' if thou oe what I wad hae thee, 
An' tak the counsel I shall gie thee, 
A levin father I'll be to thee, 

If thou be spar'd ; 
Thro' a' thy childish years I'll e'e thee, 

An' think't weel war'd. 

Gude grant that thou may ay inherit 
Thy mither's person, grace, an' merit, 
An' thy poor, worthless daddy's spirit, 

Without his failins ; 
Twill please me mair to hear an' see*t, 

Than stocktt mailins. 



TO A TAILOR, 

ARIWER TO AxN EPISTLE WHICH HE HAD SKIVT (81 

AUTHOR. 

What ails ye now, ye lousie b — h, 
To thresh my back at sic a pitch ? 
Losh man! hae mercy wi' your natch. 

Your bodkin's bauld , 
I did na suffer half sae much 

Frae daddy Auld. 



BURNS 3 POF.MS. 30^ 

What tho' at times, when I gfT5w cronse, 
I g"ie their wames a random pouse, 
Is that enough for you to souse 

Your servant sae ? 
Gae mind your seam, ye prick the louea 

An' jag the flae. 

Kiiig David, o' poetic brief. 

Wrought mang the lasses sic mischief 

As fill'd his after life wi* grief 

An' bloody rants ; 
An' yet he's rank'd amang the chief 

O' lang syne saunts. 

And, may be, Tarn, for a' my cants, 
My wicked rhymes, an' drucken rants ; 
I'll gie auld cloven Clooty's haunts 

An unco slip yet; 
An' snugly sit amang the saunte, 

At Davie's hip yet. 

But fegs, the session says I maun 

Gae fa' upo' anither plan, 

Than garren lasses cowp the cran, 

Clean heels owre body, 
And sairly thole their mithers' ban 

Afore the howdy. 

This leads me on to tell, for sport 
How I did with the session sort — 
Auld Clinkum at the inner port 

Cried three times, " Robin I 
Come hither, lad, an' answer for't, 

Ve're blam'd for jobbin.* 



202 BURNS S POEMS. 

Wi' pinch I put a Sunday's face on, 
An' snoov'd awa' before the sesaiDn; 
I made an open, fair confession, 

I scorn'd to lie ; 
An' syne Mess John, beyond expressian, 

Fell foul o' me. 

A fornicator loun he call'd me, 

An' said my faut frae bliss expell'd me , 

I own'd the tale was true he tell'd nic, 

"But what the matter?" 
Quo' I, " T fear, unless ye geld me, 

I'll ne'er be better." 

" Geld you ! " quo' he, " and whatfore n^ 
If tliat your right hand, leg, or toe, 
Should ever prove your spir'tual foe, 

You should remember 
To cut it aff, and whatfore no 

Your dearest member.'* 

"Na, na," quo' I, "I'm no for that: 
Gelding's nae better than 'tis ca't 
I'd rather suffer for my faut, 

A hearty flewit, 
As sair owre hip as ye can draw't! 

Tho' I should rue it. 



**Or gin ye like to end the bother, 
To please us a' I've just ae ither ; 
When next wi' yon lass I forgather, 

Whate'er 3etide it, 
ni frankly gie her't a' thegither, 

An' lef her guide it* 



BDRNS'S POEMS 203 

But sir, this pleas'd them warst ava, 
An' therefore^ Tarn, when that I saw, 
I said " Guid night," and cam awa', 

An' left the session ; 
I saw they were resolved a' 

On my oppression. 



TO MR. WILLIAM TYTLER, 

WITH A PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR. 

Revered defender of beauteous Stuart, 

Of Stuart, a name once respected, 
A name, which to love was the mark of a true hear* 

But now 'tis despised and neglected. 

Tho' something like moisture conglobes in my eye, 

Let no one misdeem me disloyal ; 
A poor, friendless wand'rer may well claim a sigh, 

Still more, if that wand'rer were royal. 

My fathers that name have rever'd on a throne ; 

My fathers have fallen to right it; 
Those fathers would spurn their degenerate son, 

That name should he scoffingly slight it 

Still m prayers for King George I most heartily join 
The Queen, and the rest of the gentry, 

Be they wise, be they foolish, is nothing of mine; 
Their title's avow'd by my country. 



304 BURNS'S POKMS. 

But why of that epocha make such a fuss ? 

But loyalty, trice! we're on dangerous ground; 

Who knows how the fashions may alter •' 
The doctrine to-day that is Ijyalty sound, 

To-morrow may bring us a halter! 

[ send you a trifle, a head of a bard, 

A trifle scarce worthy your care ; 
But accept it, good sir, as a mark of regard, 

Sintiere as a saint's dying prayer. 

Now life's chilly evening dim shades on your eya^ 

And ushers the long, dreary night ; 
But you, like the star that athwart gilds the sky 

Your course to the latest is bright. 



EPISTLE 

TO R. GRAHAM, ESQ., OF FINTRA. 

When Nature her great masterpiece design'd. 
And firam'd her last, best work, the human miikl 
Her eye intent on all the mazy plan, 
She form'd of various parts the various man. 

Then first she calls the useful many forth 
Plain, plodding industry, and sober worth 



BURNS'S POEMS. JMB 

rheiice peasants, f'anniM-s, native sons of earth 

And uierchandise, wliole genus take their birth , 

Each prudent cil a warui existence finds, 

And all mechanics' many apron'd kinds. 

Some other rarer sorts are wanted yet, 

The lead and buoy are needful to the net; 

The caput mortimm of gross desires 

Makes a material for mere knights and scjuires; 

The martial phosphorus is taught to How, 

She kneads the lumpish, philosophic dough, 

Then marks tli' unyielding mass with grave desigia^ 

Law, physics, politics, and deep divines : 

Last, she sublimes th' Aurora of the poles, 

The flashing elements of female souls. 

The orderd system fair before her stoou, 
Nature, well-pleas'd, pronounc'd it very good : 
But, ere she gave creating labor o'er, 
Half jest, she tried one curious labor more. 
Some spumy, fiery, ignis fatmis matter ; 
Such as the slightest breath of air might scatter; 
With arch alacrity and conscious glee, 
(Nature may have her whim as well as we, 
Her Hogarth-art perhaps she meant to show it,) 
She forms the thing, and christens it — a poet. 
Creature, though oft the prey of care and sorrow, 
When blest to-day unmindful of to-morrow. 
A being form'd to amuse his graver friends, 
Admir'd and prais'd — and tliere the hoiuage ends 
A mortal quite unfit for fortune's strife. 
Yet oi\ the sport of all the ills of life; 
Prone to enjoy each pleasure riches give, 
Vet haply wanting wherewithal to live; 
Longing to wipe each tear, to heal each groaD, 
Vet frequent all uniiei ded in his own. 
18 



206 BURNS'S POEMS. 

But honest Nature is not quite a Turk, 
She laugh'd at first, then felt for her poor wmiu 
Pitying the propless climber of mankind, 
Sshe cast about a standard-tree to find : 
And, to support his helpless woodbine state. 
Attached hnn to the generous, truly great, 
A title, and the only one I claim, 
To lay strong hold for help on bounteous Graham 

Pity the tuneful Muses' hapless train, 
Weak, timid landsmen on life's stormy main ! 
Their hearts no selfish, stern, absorbent stuff, 
That neither gives --though humbly takes enough 
The little fate allows, they share as soon, 
Unlike sage, proverb'd Wisdom's hard-wrung boon. 
The world were bless'd did bliss on them depend - 
Ah ! that " the friendly e'er should want a friend ! ' 
Let Prudence number o'er each sturdy son, 
Who life and wisdom at one race begun. 
Who feel by reason, and who give by rule, 
Instinct's a brute, and sentiment a fool !) 
Who make poor will do wait upon / should — 
We own they're prudent, but who feels they're goc/ 
Ye wise once, hence ! ye hurt the social eye ! 
God's image rudely etch'd on base alloy ! 
But come ye who the godlike pleasure know — 
Heaven's attribute distinguish'd — to bestow ! 
Whose arms of love would grasp the human race 
Come thou who giv'st with all a courtier's grace 
Triend of my life, true patron of my rhymes ! 
Prop of my dearest hope for future times. 
Why shrinks my soui lialf-b lushing, half-afraid. 
Backward, abashed to ask 'hy friendly aid ? 

know my need, I know tny giving hand, 
. crave tiiy friendship at thy kind comumnd 



BORIS'S POEMS. i(n 

But there are sucli who court the tuneful Nine — 

Heavens ! should the branded character be mine i 

Whose verse in manhood's pride sublimely flows 

Yet vilest reptiles in their begging prose. 

Mark, how their lofty, independent spirit 

Soars on the spurning wing of injur'd merit ! 

Seek not the proofs in private life to find ! 

Pity the best of words should be but wind ! 

So to heaven's gates the lark's shrill song ascends 

But grovelling on the earth the carol ends. 

In all the clamorous cry of starving want. 

They dun benevolence with shameful front; 

Oblige them, patronize their tinsel lays. 

They persecute you all your future days ! 

Ere my poor soul such deep damnation stain, 

JMy horny fist assume the plough again; 

The piebald jacket let me patch once more ; 

On eighteen-pence a week I've lived before. 

Though, thanks to heaven ! I dare even that last shift 

I trust, hieantime, my boon is in thy gift ; 

That placed by thee upon the wished-for height, 

Where, Man and Nature fairer in her sight, 

My Muse may imp her wing or some subliraer flight 



TO THE SAME. 

Lite crippled of an arm, and now a leg. 
About to beg a pass for leave to beg; 
Dull, listless, teas'd, dejected and depnr4t 
Nature is adverse to a cripple's rest,) 



20& BUR>'S*S P0EM9. 

Will g^en'rous Graham list his Poet's wail? 
It soothes poor Misery heark'ning to her tale,) 
And hear him curse the light he first surveyM 
And doubly curse the luckless, rhyming trade! 

ThoU; Nature, partial Nature, I arraign; 
Of thy caprice maternal I complain. 
The lion and the bull thy care have found ; 
One shakes the forest, and one spurns the ground 
Thou gi'est the ass his hide, the snail his shell, 
Th' envenomed wasp, victorious, guards his celL 
Thy minions, kings defend, control, devour, 
i.i all th' omnipotence of rule and power. 
Foxes and statesmen, subtle wiles insure ; 
The cit and polecat stink and are secure. 
Toads with their poison, doctors with their dnig, 
The priest and hedgehog in their robes are snug, 
Ev'n silly woman has her warlike arts. 
Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded spear and darta 

But oh ! thou bitter stop-mother, and hard. 
To thy poor, fenceless, naked child — the Bard' 
A thing unteachable in the world's skill. 
And half an idiot, too, more helpless still. 
No heels to bear him from the op'ning dun 
No claws to dig, his hated sight to shun; 
No horns, but those by luckless Hymen wore. 
And those, alas! not Amalthoa's horn: 
"Vo nerves olfact'ry, Mammon's trusty car 
Ivlad in rich dulness. comfortable fur. 
In naked feeling, and in aching pride. 
He bears th' unbroken blast from cv'ry side; 
V^ampyre booksellers drain^ lum to the heart, 
And scorpion critics cureless venom dart. 



BURNS 'S I'OKMS. ^^0^ 

Critics ! appall'd I venture on the name. 
riujse cut-Uiroat bandits in the paths of fanjc 
Bloody dissectors, worse than ten Monroes ; 
IJe hacks to teach, tiiey niangie to expose. 

Ilia heart by causeless, wanton malice wrung, 
Hy blockheads' daring- into madness stung; 
His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, 
By miscreants torn, wiio ne'er one sprig must wear 
FoiI'd, bleeding, tortur'd in th unequal strife, 
The hapless poet flound ?rs on thro' life, 
Til) fled each hope that once his bosom fir'd, 
And fled each Muse that glorious once inspir'd 
Low sunk in squallid, unprotected age, 
Dead, ev'n resentment for his mjur'd page, 
fie heeds or feels no more the ruthless critic's rage 

So, by some hedge, the gen'rous steed dcceas'd, 
For half-starv'd, snarling curs a dainty feast; 
By toil and famine wore to skin and bone, 
Lies senseless of each tuggin bitch's son. 

O, Dulness ! portion of the truly blest ; 
Calm, shelter'd haven of eternal rest! 
Thy sons ne'er madden in the fierce extremes 
Of Fortune's polar frost, or torrid beams 
If mantling high siie fills the golden cup 
With sober, selfish ease they sip it up ; 
Conscious the bounteous meed they well deserve, 
They only wonder *' some folks " do not starve. 
The grave sage hern thus easy picks his frog, 
And tiiinks the mallard a sad, worthless dog. 
When disappointment snaps the clue of hope, 
And tJiro' disastrous night .they darkling grope, 
18* 



210 BURSS'S I'OEiMS, 

Witli deaf endurance sluggishly they bear, 
And just conclude that "fools are Fortune'* caie." 
So, heavy, passive to the tempest's shocks, 
Strong on the sign-post stands the stupid ox. 

Not so the idle Muses' mad-cap train, 
Not such the workings of their moon-struck brail 
(n equanimity they never dwell, 
By turns in soaring heav'n or vaulted helL 

I dread tliee, Fate, relentless and severe, 
With all a poet's, husband's, father's fear ! 
Already one strong-hold of hope is lost, — 
Glencairw, the truly noble, lies in dust ; 
(Fled, like the sun eclips'd as noon appears, 
And left us darkling in a world of tears ;) 
O ! hear my ardent, grateful, selfish prayer ! 
FiNTRA, my other stay, long bless and spare ! 
Thro' a long life his hopes and wishes crown ; 
And bright in cloudless skies his sun go down! 
May bliss domestic smooth his private path; 
Give energy to life, and sootlie his latest breath, 
With many a filial tear circling* the bed of deatb 



TO THE SAME, 

ON RECEIVING A FAVOR. 

I CALL no goddess to inspb-e my strains, 
A fabled Muse may suit a bard that feignf 
Friend of my life ! my ardent spirit burns, 
And all the tribute of my heart returns. 



BURRS'S rOESIS. *4\ 

Pol boons accorded, goodness ever new 
The gift still dearer, as the giver you. 

Thou orb of day ! thou other paler light . 
And all ye many sparkling ^tars of night ; 
If aught that giver from my mind efface ; 
If I that giver's bounty e'er disgrace ; 
Then roil to me, along your wand'ring spherei, 
Only to number out a villain's years! 



TO A GENTLEMAN 

^HOM THE AUTHOR HAD OFFENDED. 

1*HE friend whom Avild from wisdom's way 
The fumes of wine infuriate send ; 

(Nor moony madness more astray ;) 
Who but deplores that hapless friend? 

Hime was the insensate, frenzied part, 
Ah! why should I such scenes outlive I 

Scenes so abhorrent to my heart' 
Tis iiine to pi^ and forgive 



112 BHRNS'S POEMS. 



TO A GENTLEMAN 

'BO HAD SE>T HIM A NF.AVSPAPER, AND OFfERKO II 
COM'liNUE IT FREE OF EXPENSE. 

Kind sir I've read your paper through, 

And faith, to me, 'twas really new I 

How guess'd ye, sir, what maist I wanted ? 

This monie a day I've grain'd and gaunted, 

To ken what French mischief was brewin ; 

Or what the drumblie Dutch were doin ; 

That vile doup-skelper. Emperor Joseph, 

If Venus yet had got his nose off; 

Or how the collieshangie works 

Atween the Russians and the Turks ; 

Or if the Swede, before he halt, 

Would play anither Charles the Twalt; 

If Denmark, any body spak o't ; 

Or Poland, wha had now the tack o't ; 

How cut-throat Prussian blades were hingin, 

How libbet Italy was singin ; 

If Spaniard, Portuguese, or Swiss, 

Were sayin or takin aught amiss ; 

Or hoAv our merry lads at hanie 

In Britain's court kept up the game; 

How royal George, the Lord leuk o'e> him 

Was managing St. Stephen's quorum ; 

If sleek\t Chatham Will was livin. 

Or glaikit Charlie got his nieve in ; 

How daddie Burke the plea was cookin, 

If Warren Hastings' neck was yeukin; 



BURNS S POEMS. 11^ 

How cesfles, stents, and fees wore rax'i^ 
Or if bare a — ses yet were tax'd ; 
Tlie news o' princes, dukes, and earls, 
Pimps, sharpers, bawds, and opera-girla - 
If that daft buckie, (jeordie Wales, 
Was threshing still at liissies'. tails, 
Or if he has g;rown ouirhtlins doiiscr, 
And no a perfect kintra cooser ; — 
A' this and niair I never heard of, 
An' but for you I niifrht despair'd of: 
So gratefu', back your news I send you, 
And pray a' guid things may attend yon 
Kllisland, 1790. 



SKETCH, 

TO MRS DUNLOP, 0>" A NEW YFAR*S DA». 

This day, Time winds the exhausted chcia 
To run the twelvemonth's length again; 
I see the auld bauld-pated fellow. 
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow, 
Ajitst the unimpair'd machine, . 
To wheel the equal, dull routine 

The absent lover, minor heir. 
In vain assail him with their prayer; 
Deaf as my friend, he sees them press, 
Nor makes the hour one moment less. 
Will you (the Major's with the hounds, 
The happy tenants share his rounds ; 
Coila's fair Rachel's care to-day. 
And blooming Ke;th't} engaged with Gray) 



tl4" BURNS'S POEMS. 

From housewife cares a minute bonr — 

That grandchild's cup will doto-mon.«w — 

And join with mo a monilizing. 

This day's propitious to bo wise in. 

First, what did yesternight deliver? 

" Another year is gone for ever." 

And wha' is tins day's strong 8'igc,ftiti»>n ' 

" The passing moment's all vrre redf ou ' * 

Rest on — for what do we hd-ii ? 

Or why regard the passing} ear? 

Will time, amus'd with pr. i'Ci'b'd lore 

Add to our date one mnr:*,e more? 

A few days may — a few years ra'ist — 

Repose us in the silent x?.ust 

Then is it wise to damp our blifas ? 

Yes — all such reasoning, 3 are auiiss ! 

The voice of Nature loudly cries, 

And many a message fiam the skies, 

That something in us never dies : 

That on this frail, unceitain State, 

Hang matters of eternal wei^/nt ; 

That future life, in worlds anknown, 

Must take its hue from tLiw alone ; 

Whether as heavenly gloiy bright. 

Or dark as misery's woful night — 

Since then, my honor'd, lirst of frienda, 

On this poor being all depends ; 

Let us th' important now employ, 

And live as those that never die. 

Tho' you, with days and honors crown'U, 

Witness that filial circle round, 

(A sight life's sorrows to repulse. 

A sight pale Envy to convulse,) 

Others now claim your chief regard; 

Vourself, you wait your bright reward 



BURNS'S POEBI8. 211 



THE A]JLD FARMER'S Nf>W-VEAR MORNINCJ 
SALUTATION TO HIS AULD MARE, MAGGlb; 

ON OIVING HER THE ACCUSTOMED RIP OF COH.!i M 
HANSEL K\ THE IV E W VEAH. 

A GUiD New Year I wish thee, Maggie ! 
Ilae, there's a rip to tliy auld baggie : 
The' thou's howe-hackit, now, aa' knaggie 

['se seen the day 
Thou could hae gaen like onie staggie 

Out owre the lay. 

Tho' now thou's dowie, stiff, an' crazy, 
An' thy auld hide's as white's a daisy, 
Fve seen thee dappl't, sleek, an glaizie, 

A bonie gray ; 
He should been tight that daurt to raise thee 

Ance in a day. 

Thou ance was i' the foremost rank, 
A filly, buirdly, steeve, an' swank, 
An' set weel down a shapely shank, 

As e'er tread yird, 
An' could hae flown out owre a stank, 

Like onie bird. 

It's now some nine-an'-twenty year. 
Sin' thou was my guid father's meere 
He gied mo thee, o' tocher clear, 
An' fiftv mark; 



9tn 



Tho' it was sma', 'twas weel-won gear, 
All' thou was stark. 

When firdt I gaed to woo my Jenny, 
Ye them was trottin wi' your minnie ; 
Tho' ye was trickle, slee, an' funnie, 

Yc ne'er was donsie ; 
But hainely, tawie, quiet, an' canie, 

An' unco sonsie 

That day, ye pranc'd wi' muckle pride, 
When ye bure hanie my bonie bride ; 
An' sweet an' gracefu' she did ride 

Wi' maiden air ! 
Kyle Stewart I could bragged wide 

P'or sic a pair. 

Though now ye dow but hoyte an' hobblt 
An' wintle like a samount-coble, 
That day ye was a jinker noble, 

For heels an' win' ! 
An' ran tliem till they a' did wauble, 

Far, far behin'. 

When thou an' I were young an' skeigh, 
An' stable meals at fairs were dreigh, 
How thou wad prance, an' snore, an' skreigh 

An' tak the road ! 
Town's bodies ran, an' stood abeigh, 

An' ca't thee mad. 

When thou was corn't, an' I was mellow 
We took the road ay like a swallow ; 
At Brooses thou had ne'er a fellow, 
For pitli an' speed ; 



BURXS'S POKMS. 217 

But ev'ry tail thou pay't them hollow 
Where'er thou gaed. 

The sum', droop-nimprt, hunter -cattle, 
Mig'ht aiblins waur't thee for a brattle; 
But sax Scotch miles, thou try't their mettla, 

An' jrar't them whaizle ! 
Nae wliip nor spur, but just a wattle 

O' saugh or hazel. 

Thou was a noble fittie-lan', 

As e'er in tug or tow was drawn ! 

Aft thee an' I, in aught hours gaun, 

On guid March weather, 
Hae turn'd sax rood beside our han', 

For days thegither. 

Thou never braindg't, an' fech't, an' fliskit, 
But thy auld tail thou wad hae whiskit 
An' spread abreed thy weel-fill'd brisket, 

\Vi' pith and pow'r, 
Till spritly knowes wad rair't and risket, 

An' slypct owre. 

When frosts lay lang, an' snaws were deep 
An' threaten'd labor back to keep, 
I gied thy cog a wee bit heap 

A boon the timiner ; 
I kenn'd my Maggie wad na sleep 

For that, or simmer. 

In can or car thou never restit ; 
The stcyest brae tiiou wad hae fac'd it ; 
Thou never lap, and sten't and breastit 
I'iien stood to hlaw ; 



21S BUKiNs's POICMH. 

But just thy 9te{) a wee thin^ hasUt, 
Thou snoov't awa. 

My plough is now thy bairn-time a'; 
Four gallant brutes as e'er did draw ; 
Forbye sax inae, I've sell't awa, 

That thou hast nurst; 
They drew me thretteen pund an' twa. 

The vera warst 

Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought 
An' wi' tlie weary warl' fought ! 
An' monie an anxious day, I thought 

We wad be beat ; 
yet here to crazy age we're brought, 

Wi' something yet. 

An' tliink na, my auld trusty servan', 
That now, perhaps, tliou's less deservin 
An' thy auld days may end in sUrvin', 

For my last fou, 
A heapit stimpart, I'll reserve ane 

Laid by for you. 

We've worn to crazy years thegither; 
We'll toyte about wi' ane anither ; 
Wi' teniie care I'll fit thy tether 

To some hain'd rig, 
Whare ye may nobly rax your leather 

Wi' sma' fatigue. 



IfURNS S FOEaSS. 819 



THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OP POOR 
MATLIE, THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOVVR 

Ay U.VCO MOCRNFU' TALE. 

As Mailie an' her lambs theg'ither, 
Where ae day nibbling on the tether, 
Upon her cloot she coost a hitch, 
An' owre she warsl'd in the ditch ; 
There, groaning-, dying, she did lie, 
When Hnghoc* he came doytin by 

Wi'. glowrin een, an' lifted ban's, 
Poor Hiighoc like a statue Stan's ; 
He saw her days were near-hand ended, 
But, waes my heart I he could nae mend it. 
He gaped wide, but naething spak. 
At length poor Mailie silence brak. 

" O thou, whase lamentable face, 
Appears to mourn my wofu' case! 
My dying words attentive hear, 
An' bear them to my master dear. 

"Tell him, if e'er again he keep 
As muckle gear as buy a sheep, 
O, bid him never tie them mair 
Wi' wicked strings o' hemp or haiT 
But ca' them out to park or hill, 
An' let them wander at their w^ill ; 

• A aeit-lihiir lierl-tullaii- 



•I2U BUR.XS S POEMS. 

So may his flock increase, an' grow 
To scoro« o' lambs, an' packs o' woo*' 

*' Tell hi 111 he was a master kin' 
An' ay was guici to me an' mine ; 
An' n'^w my dying charge I gie him, 
My helpless lambs, i trust them wi' him 

" O, bid him save their harmless livea 
Frae dogs, an' lods, an' butchers' knivea 
But gie them guid cow-milk tTieir fill 
Till they be fit to feed themsel' ; 
An' tent them duly, e'en an' morn 
VVi' tojits o' hay, an' rips o' corn. 

" An' m:iy they never learn tiie gaot* 
Of ither vile wanrcstfu' pets! 
'J'o slmk tiiro' slaps, an' reve, an' steal, 
At stacks o' peas, or stocks o' kail. 
So may they, like their great forbears, 
For monie a year come thro' the shears ^ 
So wives wUl gie them bits o' bread, 
An' bairns greet for them when tliey're dead 

" My pojr toop-lamb, my son an' heir 
O, bid him breed him up wi' care! 
An', if he live to be a beast 
To pit some havina in his breast! 
An' warn him what I winna name, 
To stay content wi' yowes at hame ; 
An' no to rin an' wear his cloots, 
Like ither menseless, graceless brutes. 

" An' niest my yowie, silly thing. 
G'jde keep thee frae a tether-string. 



BLIINS S PWEMS. 4^21 

O' may thou ne'er forgather up 
Wi' ony bla.stit, moorland loop 
But ay keep mind to moop an' mell 
Wi' sheep o' credit like thysel' ! 

" And now, my bairjis, wi' my last breath, 
I lea'e my blessin' wi' you baith ; 
An when you think upo' your mither 
Mind to be kin' to ane anither. 

" Now, honest Hughoc, dinna fail. 
To tell my master a' my tale ; 
An' bid him burn this cursed tether, 
An', for thy pains, thous'e get my blethei. 

This said, poor Mailie turn'd her head 
An' clos'd her een amang the dead. 



POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY 

Lament in rhyme lament in prose, 

Wi' saut tears trickling down your nose ! 

Our bardie's fate is at a close. 

Past a' remead ; 
The last sad cap-stane o' his woes ' 

Poor Mail e's dead ! 

It's no the loss o' warl's gear, 
That could sae bitter draw the tear. 
Or mak our bardie, dowie, wear 

The mourning weed* 
19* 



223 BURNS'S FOEM9. 

He'a lost a friend and neebor dear. 
In Mailie dead. 

Thro' a' the toun see trotted by him, 
A lang half mile she could descry him; 
Wi' kindly bleat, when she did spy him, 

She ran wi' speed; 
A friend niair v'aithfu' ne'er cam nigh hia 

Than Mailie dead. 

1 wat she was a sheep o' sense, 
An' could behave hersel' wi' mense •, 
I'll say't, she never brak a fence. 

Thro' thievish greed; 
Our bardie, lanely, keeps the spence 

Sin' Mailie's dead. 

Or, if he wanders up the howe, 
Her living image, in her yowe. 
Comes bleating to him o'er the knowe. 

For bits o' bread; 
An' down the briny pearls rowe, 

For Mailie dead 

She was nae get o' moorland tips, 

Wi* tawted ket an' hairy hips ; 

For her forbears were brought in ship* 

Frae yont the Tweed: 
A bonier fleesh ne'er cross'd the clipe 

Than Mailie dead. 

Wae worth the man wha first did shape 
That vile, wanchancie thing — a rape! 
It maks guid fellows girn an' gape, 
Wi' chokin' dread; 



BURNS'S POEMS. 223 

An' Robin's bonnet wave wi' crape, 
For Mailie dead. 

O, a' ye bards on bonie Doon ! 

An' wha on Ayr your chanters tune, 

Come, join the melancholious croon 

O' Robin's reed! 
His heart will never get aboon 

His Mailie dead! 



BOOK I?. 

HUMOROaS, SAXmiCxVL, EPTGRAMMATICA L 
AND MISCELLANEOUS. 



TAM O'SHANTER. 

A TALC. 

Of Brownv»e and of Bogilie full is this buke. 

Gawin Douola* 

When chapman billies leave the street, 
And drouthy neebors, neebors meet, 
As market days are wearing late, 
An' folk begin to tak the gate ; 
While we set bousing at *.he nappy, 
An' gettin' fou and unco happy, 
We think na on the lang Scots miles. 
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles, 
That lie between us and our hame, 
Whare sita our sulky, sullen dame, 
Gath'ring her brows, like gath'ring storm, 
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm. 

This truth fand honest Tam O'Shanter, 
As ho, frae Ayr, ae night did canter, 
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasaeSj 
For honest men and bonie lasses ) 



BURKS S POEMS, 25KI 

O Tain! hadst thou but been sag w^se, 
As taen thy ain wife Kate's advice ! 
Siie tauld thee weel thou was a skellum, 
\ blethering, blustering, drunken blellum^ 
That frae November till October, 
Ae market day thou was na sober; 
That ilka melder, wi' the miller. 
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller; 
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on, 
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on ; 
That at the L — d's house, ev'n on Sunday 
Thou drank wi' Kirkton Jean till Monday. 
She prophesied that, late or soon, 
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon 
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk, 
By Alioway's auld haunted kirk- 



Ah, gentle dames! it gars me greet. 
To think how monie counsels sweet, 
How monie lengthen'd, sage advices. 
The husband frae tlw wife despises! 

But to our tale : — Ae market night, 
Tam had got planted unco right : 
F&fit by an ingle, bleezing finely, 
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely, 
And at his elbow, souter Johnny, 
His ancient, trusty, drouther crony; 
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither ; 
They had been fou for weeks thegither 
The night drave on wi' sangs and clatter 
And ay the ale was growing better: 
The landlady and Tam grew gracious, 
Wi' favors, secret, sweet, and precious? 



226 BCRNS'S rOEM?». 

The souter tauld hii,! queerest stories . 
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus: 
The storm without might rair and rustle, 
Tim did na mind the . xrm a whistle 

Care, mad to see a man sae happy, 
E'en drown'd himself amang the nappy 
As bees flee hame wi' lades v>' treasure, 
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure 
Kings may be blest, but Tam waa glorioui, 
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious. 

But pleasures are like poppies spread, 
You seize the flow'r, its bloom is shed' 
Or, like tlie snow-falls in the river, 
A moment white — then melts for ever; 
Or like the borealis race, 
That flit ere you can point their place 
Or like tlie rainbow's lovely form. 
Evanishing amid the storm ! 

Nae man can tether time or tide ; 
The hour approaches Tam maun ride; 
That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane, 
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in; 
And sic a night he taks the road in, 
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in. 

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last , 
The rattling show'rs rose on the blast ; 
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd 
Loud, deep, and lang, the thunder bellow'd. 
That ni^ht, a child might understand 
The I>eil had business on his hand 



BURNS* S POEMS. 227 

Weel mounted on his gray nmre, Meg, — 
A better never lifted leg, — 
Tarn skelpit on thro' dub and mire, 
Despising wind, and rain, and fire ; 
Whyles holding fast his guid blue bonnet, 
VVhyles crooning e'er some auld Scots sonnet, 
Whyles glow'ring round wi' prudent cares 
Lest bogles catch him unawares ; 
KirkAlloway was drawing nigh, 
Whare ghaists and houlets nightly cry. 

By this time he was cross the ford, 
Whare in the snaw the chapman noor'd; 
And past the birks and meikle stune, 
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane; 
An' thro' the whins, and by the cairn, 
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn ; 
And near the thorn, aboon the well, 
Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel'. 
Before him, Doon pours all its floods. 
The doubling storm roars thro' the woods ; 
The lightnings flash from pole to pole, 
Near and more near the thunders roll ; 
When, glimm'ring thro' the groaning trees, 
Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze ! 
Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing, 
And loud resounded mirth and dancing! 

[nspiring bold John Barleycorn! 
What dangers thou canst make us scorn! 
Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil ; 
Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil! 
The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, 
Fair play, he car'd na Deils a boddle. 



838 



BCRiVS S PGEMa. 

But Maggie stood righ sair astonished, 

Till, by the heel and hand admonished, 

She ventur'd forward on the light, 

And, vow ! Tarn saw an unco sight ! 

Warlocks and witches in a dance, — 

Nae cotillon brent new frae France, 

But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, 

Put life and mettle in their heels. 

A winnock-bunker in the east, 

There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; 

A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, 

To gie them music was his charge: 

He screw'd his pipes, and gart them skirl 

Till roof and rafters a' did dirl. 

Coffins stood round like open presses, 
That shaw'd the dead in their last dresset 
And, by some devilish cantrip slight, 
Each in its cauld hand held i light, 
By which, heroic Tam was able 
To note, upon the haly table, 
A murd'rers banes in gibbet aims, 
Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns 
A thief, new-cutted frae a rape, 
Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; 
Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red-rusted. 
Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted ; 
A garter which a babe had strangled, 
A knife, a father's throat had mangled 
Whom his ain son o' life bereft, — 
The gray hairs yet stack to the heft ; 
Three lawyers' tongues turn'd inside out, 
Wi' lies seam'd like a beggar's clout; 
And priests' hearts, rotten, black as muck. 
Lay, stinking, vile, in ev'ry neuk. 



BURNS S POEMS 23& 

Wi' inair o' horrible and awfu', 
Which ev'n to name wad be unlawfu'. 

As Tammie glowVd, amaz'd, and curious, 
The mirth and fun grew fast and furious : 
The piper loud and louder blew, 
The dancers quick and quicker flew ; 
They reel'd, they set, they cross'd, they cleekit, 
Till ilka carlin swat and reekit. 
And coGst her duddies to the wark. 
And linket at it in her sark! 

Now Tarn, O Tarn ! had they been queans, 
A' plump and strapping, in their teens ; 
Their sarks, instead o' creeshie flannen. 
Been snaw-white, seventeen hunder linen' 
These b reeks o' mine, my only pair. 
That ance were pk.sh, o' guid blue hair, 
I wad hae gi'en them aff my hurdies. 
For ae blink o' the bonie burdies ! 

But wither'd beldams, auld and droll, 
Rigwoodie hags wad spean a foal, 
Lowpijig an' flinging on a crummock, 
I wonder didna turn thy stomach. 

But Tam kenn'd what was what fu' orawlioj 
There was ae winsome wench and walie, 
That night enlisted in the core, 
(Lang after kenn'd on Carrick shore ! 
For monie a beast to dead she snot, 
And perish'd monie a bonie boat. 
And shook baith meikle corn and bpar, . 
And kept the country-side in fear.j 
9A) 



830 BUKNS'S POEMS. 

lUr cutty-sark, o' Paisley harn, 
That while a lassie she had worn. 
In longitiule tho sorely scanty, 
It was her best, and she was vauntie. 
Ah ! little kenn'd thy rev'rend grannie, 
That sark she coft for her wee Nannie, 
Wi' twa pund Scots, ('twas a' her richiSB,) 
Wad ever grac'd a dance o' witches! 

But here my Muse her wing maun cowV; 
Sic flights are far beyond her pow'r ; 
To sing how Nannie lap and fiang, 
(A souple jad she was and Strang ;) 
And how Tarn stood, like ane bewitch'd, 
And thought his very een enrich'd ; 
Ev'n Satan glowVd, and fidg'd fu' fain, 
And hotch'd, and blew wi' might and mam; 
Till first ae caper, syne anither, 
Tarn tint ids reason a' thegither, 
And roars out, " Weel-done, Cutty-sark ! " 
And in an instant a' was dark ! 
And scarcely had he Maggie rallied, 
When o'Jt the hellish legion sallied. 

As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke. 
When plund'ring herds assail their byke ; 
As open pussie's mortal foes, 
When, poo ! she starts before their nose ! 
As eager runs the market-crowd, 
When, " Catch the thief!" resounds aloud 
So Maggie runs, — the witches follow. 
Wi' monie an eldritch screech and hollow ! 

Ah, Tam ! ah, Tarn ! thou'll get thy fairin 
In hell they'll roast thee like a herrin I 



BCRNS S FOEMS. 231 

[n va n thy Kate awaits thy coniin'! 
Kate soon will be a wofu' woman i 
Now, do thy speedy utmost, Me^, 
And win the key-stane* o' the brig^; 
There at them thou thy tail may tosa, — 
A running stream they dare na cross 
But ere the key-stane she could maka. 
The fient a tail she had to shake ' 
For Nannie, far before the rest.. 
Hard upon noble Mag-gie prest, 
And flew at Tam wi' furious ettie , 
But little wist she Maggie's mettle ; — 
Ae spring brought aff her master hale. 
But left, behind her ain gray tail I 
The carlin claught her by the rump, 
And left poor Maggie scarce a stump ! 

Now, wha this tale o' truth shall read, 
Ilk man and mother's son take heed : 
VVhene'er to drink you arc inclin'd, 
Or cutty-sarks run in your mind, 
Think, ye may buy the joys o'er dear, 
Remember Tam O'Shanter's mare. 



• II is a well known fad, ihal wiiches, orany evil spirits, havens 
jiower to follow a poor wighi any farther than the mi idle of the new 
niniiing stream. It may be proper likewise lo mention lo the benight«4 
auveUer, ihsi when he falls in with Bogles, whatever dajiger may be a 
bit %<img forward, th^re ie much tcor« hazard m turi ig ba^k 



232 BirRNS's PGEMS. 



ffhe follow T.g pnein will, by maii> readers, be well enough uiidet 
■lood ; bat for .f.» sake ol'iliuse who are unacquainted w ith llie loauien 
and traditions of the country where iiie scene is cast, notes are added, 
U) give some account of the princijjai charms and spells of that night, w 
big with prophecy to the peasantry in ihe west of Scotland The pas 
•ion of pryijig into futurity makes a striking part of the history of human 
rature in its rude stale, in all ages anil nations; and it may be s<»me en 
eriainment to a philf)3ophic mind, if any such should iionor the author 
w ih a perusal, to see the remains of it among the more unenlighientid 
ill »ir own.] 

HALLOWEEN.* 

Yes! let the rich deride, the proud disdain, 
The simple pleasures of the lowly train i 
To me more dear, congenial to my heart, 
One native charm than all the gloss of art. 

(lULDSMITH. 



Upon that night when fairies light. 

On Cassilis Dou-nans f dance, 
Or owr* the lays, in splendid blaze. 

On sprightly coursers prance ; 
Or for Coleun the rout is taen. 

Beneath the moon's pale beams ; 
There, up tlie cove,t to stray an' rove 



* It ij thought to be a night wVen witches, devils, and other rtitcnief' 
maiing beings, are all a iroad on iheir baneful midnight errands; (Mrtio- 
nlarly Uiose aerial people, the fames, are said on that night to hold g 
jraiid anniversary. 

t Certain little, romantic, ri>cky, green hills, in the neighborhood of th« 
Ancient seal of the earls of Cassilis. 

J A noted cavern near Colean-house, called the Cove of Coiean 
vvhicb, as well as Cassilis Downans, is famed in country story for bm 
ieg a favur<le k-iunt ""or fairies 



BtRNS S POF.MS. 233 

Amang the rocks an' streams, 
To sport that night. 



Amang tlie bonie, winding banks, 

Where Doon rins, wimplin, clear 
Where Bruce* ance rul'^ the martial ranks, 

Ana shook his Carrick spear, 
Some merry, friendly, countra folks, 

Together did convene, 
To burn their nits, an' pou their stocks, 

An' baud their Halloween, 

Fu' blythe that night. 



The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, 

Mair braw than when they're fine ; 
Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, 

Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin': 
The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs, 

Weel knotted on their garten. 
Some unco blate, and some wi' gabs. 

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin, 

Whyles fast that night 



Then first and foremost, thro' the kail, 
Their stocks f maun a' be sought ance ; 



• The famous family of that name, the ancestors of Robert, tlie grea*. 
iehverei of his country, were earls of Carrick. 

1 The first ceremony of Halloween is, pulling each a stock, or plant 
nf kail. 'Die y must go out. hand in hand, with eyes shut, and puii the 
ftrst ihey meet with. Its being big or little, straight or crooked, is pro- 
paetic of the size and shape of the grand object of all their spells — th« 
hKsband or wife. If any yird, or earth stick o the ro<H, mat is toucher. 



CM BURNS'S POEMS, 

They steek their een, an' graip an' wal«k 
For muckle anes an' straught ancs. 

Poor hav'rel Will fell aff tlie drift, 
An' wander'd thro' the bow-kail, 

An' pow't, for want o' better shift, 
A runt was like a sow-tail, 

Sae bow't that night 



Then, straught, or crooked, yird or nare. 

They roar an' cry a throu'ther ; 
The vera wee tilings, todlin, rin 

Wi' stocks out owre their shouther ; 
An' gif the custock's sweet or sour, 

Wi' joctelegs they taste them ; 
Syne coziely, aboon the door, 

Wi' cannie care they've plac'd them. 
To lie that night, 

VI. 

The lasses staw frae 'mang them a', 
To pou their stalks o' corn ; * 

But Rab slips out, an' jinks about, 
Behint the muckle thorn : 

He grippet Nelly hard an' fast, 



Bi fortune; and the taste of ilie cusiock, iliat is, the heart of Ihe stem, 
Lb indicative of the natural temper and dis|> isitinn. Lastly, the stem*. 
or, to g-ive ihein their ordinary apjiellalion, the runls, are placed some- 
where above the head of the door: and the christian names uf the peo- 
ple whom chance brnigs into ilie house, are, according lu liie priority ol 
placing the runts, the names in question. 

* They go to the harii-yard, and pull each, at three several times, « 
stalk of oats If the third stalk wains the ta|>pickle, that is, the gnuu «< 
jhe top of the stalk, the party m (juestion will come 'v 'iie marriage \i€<d 
•uything ba» a maid. 



BUk>Sd POEMS. 

lioad sLiled a' tlie lasses; 
But her tap-pickle inaist was lost. 
When kiuitlin in the fauso-houae,* 
Wi' hun tJiat night. 

vn. 

riie aula guidwifes's weel-hoarded nits 

Are round an' round divided, 
An' monie lads' an' lasses' fates 

Are there that night decided : 
Some kindle, couthie, side by side, 

An' burn thegither trimly ; 
Some start awa wi' saucy pride, 

An' jump out owre the chimiie, 
Fu' hiirh that niirht. 



Jean slips in twa wi' tentie e'e ; 

VVlia 'twas she wadna tell ; 
But this is Jock, and this is me. 

She says in to hersel': 
He bleez'd owre her, an' she owre h.m. 

As they wad never niair part ! 
Pill, fuff! he started up the lum, 

An' Jean had e'en a sair heart, 
To see't that night. 



• W^*- ^ the onni is in a douhifu. stait^, by heing loo green or wet, Ui« 
»laek-l)'iuder, hy means of old limber, Alc, makes a large aparinient is 
bis stack, Willi an opening in the siiiu vvliicii Is fairest exjKised lo ihu 
«nnd ; tlris he calls a I'anse-hoiise. 

t Brraing ilie nuts is a famous charm. They name the lad and lasa 
vei:h jarticular nm, as thx-'y lay them in the fire, and accordmgly ai 
thev "^u-n qniety together or siart from beside one onolh'jr, the coura* 
•..1 U8U8 of itii! coiirtsinp wil! be 



23^ UUUN.S S POEMS. 



Poor Willie, wi' his bow-kail-runl. 

Was brunt wi' primsie Mallie ; 
An' Mallie, nac doubt, took the dnint, 

To be cornpar'd to Willie ; 
Mall's nit lap out wi' pridefu fling, 

An' her ain fit it brunt it; 
While Willie lap, and swoor by jing, 

'Twas just the way he wanted 
To be tliat niffhU 



Nell had the fause-housc in her min', 

She pits hersel' an' Robin ; 
In loving bleeze they sweetly join, 

Till white in ase they're sobbin: 
Nell's heart was dancin at the view. 

She whisper'd Rob to leuk for't: 
Rob, stowlins, prie'd her bonie mou, 

Fu' cozie in the neuk foi't, 

Unseen that night. 

XI. 

But Merran sat behint their backs, 

Her thoughts on Andrew Bell ; 
She lea'es them gashin at their cracks, 

An' slips out by hersel'; 
She thro' the yard the nearest taka., 

An' to the kiln she goes then. 
An' darklins grapit for the bauks, 

And in the blue-chie* tiiroAvs then, 
Right tear't that night 

Whoever would, with success, try 'n is speL, rnusl strictlv obserTi 
le /Ureciions : Hieui out. all alone, uilo ihc kiln and, darkling, Ihro* 



BURNS'S POEMS. 



XII. 



399 



An ay she win't, an' ay she swal, 

I wat she made nae jaukin ; 
Till something held within the pat, 

Guid L — d, but she was quakin! 
But whether 'twas the Deil himsel' 

Or whether 'twas a bauk-en', 
Or whether it was Andrew Bell, 

She did nae wait on talkin 

To spier that night 



Wee Jennie to her grannie says, 

" Will ye go wi' me, grannie ? 
I'll eat ihe apple* at the glass, 

I gat frae uncle Johnnie : " 
She fulTt her pipe wi' sick a lunt, 

In wrath she was sae vap'rin. 
She notic't na, an aizle brunt 

Her braw new worset apron 

Out thro' that night 



'* Ye little skelpie limmer's face, 
How daur you try sic sportin. 

As seek the foul thief onie place, 
For him to spae your fortune ? 



iato ihe pot a clue of blue yarn, wind ii in a new clue off the oIJ on« 
»n(I, towards the latter end, something will hold the thread. Demsad, 
Wha hands? i. e., Who holds? An answer will be retarnei from lh« 
kiln-pot, by namnig the christian and surname of your future spouse. 

• Take a candle, and go alone to a looking-glass ; eat an apple befor* 
it, and some traditions say you should comb your hair all the lime ; thf 
face of your conjugal companion to be, will be see.f in the gia&i, aa i) 
peepm^ ovor your shoulder. 



BUR.NS S POEMS. 

Nae douDi but ye may get a sight. 

Great cause ye have to fear it , 
For monie a ane has gotten a fright. 

An' lived an' died deleeret, 
On sic a niorht. 



" Ae haerst afore tlie Sherra-inoor, 

I mind't as weel's yestreen, 
I was a gilpey, then, I'm sure 

I was nae past fyfleen ; 
The simmer had been cauld an' wat, 

An' stuff was unco green ; 
An' ay a rantin kirn we gat, 

A' just on Halloween 

It fell that niirht 



*' Our stibble-rig was Rab M'Graem, 

A clever, sturdy fellow ; 
He's sin' gat Eppie Sim wi' wean, 

That lived in Achmacalla: 
He gat hemp-seed,* I mind it weel, 

An' he made unco light o't; 
But monie a day was by himsel*. 

He was sae sairly frightet 

That vera night" 

• Steal out, unperceived, aji*. sow a liandful of hemp-seed, hai t.».ifti 
i with anything you can convenieiilly draw aAer you. Repea , non 
%nd then, " Hemp-seed, I saw thee ; hemp-seed, 1 saw thee ; and him (« 
her) that is to be my true-love, come aAer me, and pou thee." Look 
over your left shoulder, and you will see the appearance of the peraon 
iitvoiktd, in the attitude of pulling hemp. Some traditions say, " Ct»m« 
after n.e, and shaw ihse," that is, show thjself; in which case it simply 
apfiears Others omit the harrowing, anu say, " Cone after me, au^ 
harrow ti»ee." 



BURNS S POEMS. 339 



Then up ^'at fechtin' Jamie Fleck, 

An' he swoci ^y his conscience, 
That he coiihi saw hemp-seed a peck, 

For it was a but nonsense: 
The auld g-uid man raiight down the ^Kk^ 

An' out a handfu' gied him ; 
Syne bad him slip frae 'mang the folk. 

Some time when na ane see'd him, 
An' try't that night 



He marches thro' amang the stacks^ 

Tho' he was something sturtin ; 
The graip he for a harrow taks. 

An' haurls at his curpin: 
An' ev'ry now an' then, he says, 

"Hemp-seed, I saw thee. 
An' her that is to be my lass, 

Come after me, and draw thee 
As fast this night" 

XIX. 

He whistl'd up Lord Lennox's marcli 

To keep his courage cheery ; 
Although his hair began to arch. 

He was sae fley'd an' eerie; 
Till presently he hears a squeak. 

An' then a grane an' gruntle: 
He by his shouther gae a keek. 

An' tumbl'd wi' a wiiitle- 

Out ovre that night 



iO BURNS'S POEMS. 



XX. 



He roard a horrid murder-shout, 

In dreadfu' desperation! 
An' young and auld came rinnin ouij 

To hear the sad narration : 
He swoor 'twas hilchin Jean M'Craw, 

Or crouchie Merran Humphie, 
Till stop ! she trotted thro' them a', 

An' wha was it but grumphie 
Asteer that night! 



Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen, 

To winn three wechts o' naething • • 
But for to meet the Deil her lane, 

She pat but little faith in: 
She gies the herd a pickle nits, 

An' twa red cheekit apples. 
To watch, while for the barn she sets 

In hopes to see Tam Kipples 
That vera night. 

XXII. 

She turns the key wi' cannie thraw, 
And owre the threshold ventures ; 



• Thjs charm must likewise be performed, unperceived, and ak>h«, 
Vou go to the bam, and open both doors, taking them off the bingf s, ii 
possible; for there is danger that the beuig, about to appear, may shal 
the doors, and do you some mischief. Then take that instrument use^ 
ai winnowing the corn, which, in our coiuiiry dialect, we call a wecht 
and go through all the atiitudes of etting down corn against the wind 
Repeal it three times ; aiul the third ime an apparition will pass through 
ihe barn, in at the wmdy door, and out at the other, having both the fig 
uie in question, and the appeatance or retinue, marking theeiapl t/raeni 
•T lULlion m life. 



BUF. rs'S POEMS ^1 

"•mi first on Sawnie gies a ca', 

Syne bauldly in she enters ; 
A ration rauled up the wa', 

An' she cried, L — d, preserve her! 
An' ran tliro' niidden-hole an' a', 

An' pray'd wi' zeal an' fervor, 
Fu' fast that night. 



They hoy't out Will, wi' sair advice: 

Then hecht him some fine braw are 
It chanc'd the stack lie faddom'd thrice * 

Was timber-propt for thrawin : 
He taks a swirlie, auld moss oak. 

For some black, grousome carlin ; 
An' loot a winze, an' drew a stroke, 

Till skin in blypes cam haurlin, 

Aff's nieves that night, 

XX!V. 

A wanton widow Leezie was, 

As canty as a kittlen ; 
But och ! that night, amang the shaws, 

She got a fearfu' settlin ! 
She thro' the whins, an' by the cairn, 

An' owre the hill gaed scrievin, 
Whare three lairds' lands met at a burn,t 



• Take an opportunity of going, uii» oticed. to a bwir-slacK, ano fat». 
*M il three limes roiincl. The last fatlioni of \he last time, you wili 
eelch in your arms the appt-aranoe of your future conjugal yoke-fellow. 

t You go out. one or more, for lliLs is a social .spell, to a soutli-ruiuang 
spring ov rivulet, where "three lairds' lands meet,'' and dip your left 
•hirt sleeve. Go u> lied in siglii of a lire, and iiang your wet sleev« 
before i< lo dry. Lie awake ; and. sometime ijef*r midnighl, an appari- 
uou, having the exact figure of the grand object in question, will fwaw 
uid turn the sleeve, as if to dry ihe oilier side of il. 

21 



t42 BLRNS*9 POEMS. 

To dip her left sark-sleeve ift, 
Was bent that nigrht 



Whyles o'er a linn the burnie pla]ri| 

As thro' the glen it wimpi't ; 
Whyles round a rocky scar it strayn 

Whyles in a wiel it dimpl't; 
Whyles glitter'd to tne nightly rays, 

Wi' bickering, dancing dazzle; 
Whyles cookit underneath the braes. 

Below the spreading hazel, 

Unseen that night. 



Araang the brackens, on the brae. 

Between her an' the moon. 
The Deil, or else an outler quey, 

Gat up an' gae a croon ! 
Poor Leezie's heart maist lap the Aool ; 

Near lav'rock-height she jumpit, 
But mist a fit, an' in the pool, 

Out owre the lugs she plumpit, 

Wi' a plunge that night 

XXVII. 

In order, on the clean hearth-stane. 
The luggies three* are ranged. 



• Take ihree dishes; pui clean water in one, foul water in another i 
leave the third empty. Blindfold a person, an-^ lead him to the heartli 
where the dishes are ranged ; he (or she) dips th«-- '.eft hand : if by chanc« 
in the clean water, the future husband or wife Vk '1 conie to the oar w 
matrimony a maid; if in the foul, a widow; A u. the empty dih, i1 
foretells, with equal certainty, no marriage at all. It is reijeated Uire« 
umea, and every ume the arrangement of the dishes is altered 



BURNS'S POEMS 'JTJ 

An* ev'ry time great care is ta&n, 

To see them duly changed ; 
Auld uncle John, wha wedlock's joys, 

Sin' Mar's year did desire. 
Because he gat the toom dish tiirice, 

H«^ hoav'd them on the fire, 

In wrath that niarht 



Wi' merry sangs, an' friendly crack«, 

1 wat tliey did na weary ; 
An* unco tales, an' funnie jokes, 

Their sports were cheap an' cheer/ 
Till butter'd so'ns,* wi' fragrant lunt. 

Set a' their gabs a-steenn; 
Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt, 

They parted aff careerin, 

Fu' blythe that night. 



THE JOLLY BEGGARS. 



A CAWTATA. 

RECITATIVO. 



When lyirt leaves bestrew the yird, 
Or wav'ring like the Bauckie-bird, f 

Bedim cauld Boreas' blast; 
When hail-stanes drive wi' bit*er skyte, 



• Sovvins, vvJlli Ijuller iusteail of iriilk lo llieiu, ii always the Ilttllo^ 
•ei: supper. 

■ T*>e old Scotch aaine for ihe Bat. 



144 BTRrvSS FOEM8. 

And infant frosts beg-'-a to yite, 

In hoary cranniuch drest ; 
Ae night at e'en a merry core 

O' randie, gangrel bodies, 
In Poosie-Nansie's held the splore, 
To drink their orra daddies : 
VVi' quaffing and laughing, 

They ranted and they sang , 
Wi' jumping and thumping, 
The vera girdle rang. 

First niest the tire, in auid red rags, 
Ane sat weel brac'd wi' mealy bags, 

And knapsack a' in order ; 
His doxy lay within his arm, 
Wi' usquebae an' blankets warm — 

She blinket on her sodger : 
An' ay he gives the tousie drab 

The tither skelpin kiss, 
While she held up her greedy gab 
Just like an a'mous dish. 

Ilk smack still did crack still. 

Just like a cadger's whip, 
Then, stagg'ring and swagg'nng 
He roar'd this ditty up : — 



AIR. 

I'UNE — " Soldier's Joy.'' 
I. 



I AM a son of Mars, who have been in many wars 
And show my cuts and scars wherever 1 couM 



BUR.NS'S FOE MS. 243 

rhis herc3 was for a wench, and that other in a trench 
When welcoming the French a* the sound of the druia 

Lai de daudle, &c. 



My *prenticeship I past where my leader breath'd his 

last, 
When the bloody die was cast od the heights ol 

Abram ; 
I serv'd out my trade when thft gallant game waa 

play'd, 
And the Moro low was laid at tlie sound of the drum 

Lai de daudle, &c. 



I lastly was with Curtis, among the floating batt'ries, 
And there I left for witness an arm and a limb ; 
Yet let my country need me, with Elliot to head me 
I'd clatter on my stumps at the sound of a drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c. 



And now, tliough I must beg, with a wooden arm 

and leg, 
And many a tatter'd rag hanging over my bum, 
Vm aa happy with my wallet, my bottle, and nil 

callet, 
As when I us'd in sc&rlet to follow a drum. 

Lai de daudle, &c 

What tho' wifJi hoary locks, I must sland the wint« 

shocks. 
Beneath t^** woods and rocks oftentimes for a home. 
21* 



Mh BURNS'S POEMS. 

When the t'other bag I sell, and the t'othei bottle telV 
could meet a troop of hell at the sound of the druia 

Lai de daudle, &,c 



RECITATIVO. 

He ended ; and the kebars sheuk 

Aboon the chorus roar; 
While frighted rattans backward leuk, 

And seek the benmost bore ; 
A fairy fiddler frae the neuk. 

He skirl'd out encore ! 
But up arose the martial chuck, 

And laid tlie loud uproar. 



AIR. 

Tune Soyier Laddie*^ 



* once was a maid, tho' I cannot tell when, 
And still my delight is m proper young men. 
Some one of a troop of di agoons was my daddie ; 
No wonder I'm fond of a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, &.e. 



The first of my loves «as a swaggermg blade 
To rattle the thunderi/if drum was his trade: 
His leg was so tight '.nd his cheek was so ruddy 
T»^n8pnrttd I was V ' I my sodger laddie. 

Singr, Lal de lal, Slc 



BURNS S POEMS 241 



But the godly old chaplain left him in the lurch; 
The sword I forsook for the sake of the church : 
He ventur'd the soul, and I risked the body — 
Twas then I prov'd false to my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lai de lal, &c 



Full soon I grew sick of my sanctified sot, 
The regiment at large for a husband I got; 
From the gilded spontoon to the fife I was ready, 
^ asked no more but a sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de la.1, &c. 



But the peace it reduc'd me to beg in despair, 
Till I met my auld boy at Cunningham fair; 
His rags regimental they fiutter'd so gaudy, 
My heart it rejoic'd at my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, &c 



And now 1 have lived — I know not how long — 
A.nd still I can join in a cup or a song; 
But whilst with both hands I can hold the glass steadj 
Hire's to thee, my hero, my sodger laddie. 

Sing, Lal de lal, Slc 



RKCITATIVO. 



I'hen niest outspak a raucle carlin, 
Wha kent sae weel to cleek the sterling, 
For monie a pursie she had hooked, 
Aid had in monie a well been ducked 



848 BURJ\S'S POEMM. 

Her dove had been a Highland laddin. 
Bui weary fa' the waefu' woody ! 
Wi sig-hs and sobs she thus began 
To wail her braw John Highlandman 



AIR. 

Tune — " O, in ye tvere deait, guidman,^ 



A Highland lad my love was born, 
The Lalland laws he held in scorn ; 
But he still was faithfu' to his clan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 



Sing, hey my braw John Highlandman' 
Sing, ho my braw John Highlandman! 
There's not a lad in a' the Ian' 
Was match for my John Highlandman 



Willi his philibeg, an' tartan plaid, 
An' guid claymore down by his side, 
The ladies' hearts he did trepan, 
My gallant braw John Highlandman. 

Sing, hey, &.c 



We ranged a' from Tweed to Spey, 
An' liv'd like lords an' ladies gay 



BURAS'S POEMS. 94S 

For a Lalland face he feared nane, 
My gallant braw John Highlandnian. 
Sing, hey, &c 



They banish'd him beyond the sea, 
But ere the bud was on the tree, 
Adown my cheeks the pearls ran, 
Embracing my John Ilighlandmun. 

Sing, hey, &c. 



But, oh! they catch'd him at the last, 
And bound him in a dungeon fast ; 
My curse upon them ev'ry ane, 
They've hang'd my braw John Highlandmaa 
Sing, hey, &c. 
% 

VI. 

And now a widow, I must mourn 
The pleasures that will ne'er return ; 
No comfort but a hearty can, 
When I think on John Highlandman. 
Sing, hey, &c. 



RECITATIVO. 

A pigmy scraper wi' his fiddle, 

Wha us'd to trysts and fairs to driddle, 

Her strappan limb and gaucy middle, 

He reach'd nae higher, 
Had hoPd his hcartie like a riddle, 

An' blawn't on fire. 



^5C BURNS's POEMS. 

Wi' hand on haunch, an' upward e'e, 
He croon'd his gamut, one, two, thre«, 
Then, in an Arioso key. 

The wee AdoHo 
Set off wi' Allegretto glee 

His giga sola 



AIR. 

Tune — " fVhistk o'er the loot oV 
I. 

Let me ryke up to dight that tear 
An' go wi' me to be my dear, 
An' then your ev'ry care an' fear 
May whistle o'er the lave o'L 

CHORDS. 

I am a fiddler to my trade, 
And a' the tunes that e'er I play'd. 
The sweetest still to wife or maid, 
Was whistle o'er the lave o't 



At kirns and weddings we'se be therfl^ 
And O ! sae nicely's we will fare ; 
We'll bouse about till daddie Care 
Sing whistle o'er the lave o't 

I am. Sic. 

III. 

Sae merrily the banes we'll pyke, 
An' sun oursels about the dyke 



BIJRJVS'S PC EM 9. 



An' at our leisure, when we like, 
We'll whistle o'er tlie lave o't 

1 am, &LC. 



But bless me wi' your heav'n o' charms, 
An' while I kittle hair on thairms, 
Hunger, cauld, an' a' sic harms, 
May whistle o'er the lave o't. 

I am, dz.c 



RECITATIVO. 

Her charms had struck a sturdy Caird, 

As weel as poor Gut-scraper; 
He taks the fiddler by the beard. 

And draws a rusty rapier. 
He swoor by a' was swearing worth. 

To speet him like a pliver. 
Unless he would, from that time forth. 

Relinquish her for ever. 

Wi' ghastly e'e, poor tweedle-dee 

Upon his hunkers bended. 
And pray'd for grace, wi' ruefu' face, 

And sae the quarrel ended. 
But though his little heart did grieve, 

When round the tinker press'd her, 
He feign'd to snirtle in his sleeve, 

When thus the Caird address'd hat • 



BURNS S POEMS. 

AIR. 

TuNK — " Clout the Caudroiu*' 



My 'jonie lass, I work in brass, 

A tinker is my station ; 
I've travell'd round all Christian ground 

In this, ray occupation. 
I've taen the gold, I've been enroll'd 

In many a noble squadron; 
But vain they search'd, when aff I marched 

To go and clout the caudron. 

I've taen the gold, &c. 



Despise that shrimp, that withered imp, 

Wi' a' his noise and cap'rin, 
And tak a share wi' those that bear 

The budget and the apron. 
And by that stovvp ! my faith and houp, 

And by that dear Keilbaigie,* 
If e'er ye want, or meet wi' scant, 

May I ne'er weet my craigie. 

And by that stowp, &c. 



RECITATIVO. 



The Caird prevail'd — th' unblushing fair 

In his embraces sunk 
Partly wi' love o'ercome sae sair, 

An' partly she was drunk. 



• A peculiar sort of whiskey, so called, a great favorite with Poosifl 
Haiisie's clubs. 



Sir Violina, \vi' an air 

Tliat sliow'd a man of spunk, 

Wish'ii unison between the pair, 
An' made the bottle clunk 

'J'o their health thai night 

Bnt hurcliin Cupid shot a shaft 

That piay'd a dame a shavie, 
The fiddler rak'd her fore and afl, 

Bchint the chicken cavie. 
Her lord, a wight o' Homer's * cnfL 

Tho' limpin wi' the spavie, 
He hirpl'd up, and lap like daft, 

And shor'd them daintj' Davie, 
O' boot that night. 

He was a care-defying blade, 

As ever Bacchus listed ; 
The' Fortune sair ti})on him laid, 

His heart slie ever rniss'd it. 
He had nae wish but — to be glad: 

Nor want, but — when he thirsted! 
He hated nought, but — to be sad ; 

And thus the Muse suggested 
His sang that night 



AIR 

TuwE — " For a' that, and a' that'* 

I am a Bard of no regard 
Wi' gentle folks, an' a' Jhat ; 

* Hoiaei ks mII )vv'e(i Ki b*? llie oldt-.si UiilaU smger on iCiMkNL 

22 



BURNS S POEMh. 



But Iloiiier-like, the Tlowmn byke, 
Frae towii to town I draw that- 



For a that, and a' that, 

And twice as muckle'8 a' that ; 
I've lost but ane, I've twa behin', 

I've wife eneugh for a' that 



I never drank the Muses' stank, 
Castalia's burn, and a' that; 

But there it streams, and richly reama 
My Helicon I ca' that. 

For a' that, &-c. 



Great love I bear to a' the fail, 
Their humble slave, and a' that; 

But lordly will 1 hold it still 

A mortal sin to thraw that. 

For a' that, &.c. 



!a raptures sweet, tliis hour we meet, 
Wi' mutual love, and a' that; 

But for how lang the flie may stang, 
Let inclination law tliat. 

For a' that, &c. 



Their tricks and craft have put me daft» 
They've taen me in, and a' that; 

But clear your decks, and here's the 86* 
i like Uhe jads for a' thau 



BURNS S POEMS. 



Fjf a' that, and a' that, 

And twice as muckle's a' that ; 
My dearest bluid, to do then ^id, 

They're welcome tili't for a' that 



RECITATIVO 

So sung the bard — and Nansie's wa's 
Shook wi' a thunder of applause, 

Re-echo'd from each mouth : 
They toom'd their pocks, an' pawn'd tlieir dud«, 
They scarcely left to co'er their fuds 

To quench their lowan drouth. 

Then owre again, the jovial thrang 

The poet did recjuest, 
To loose his pack, an' wale a sang, 
A ballad o' the best : 
He, rising, rejoicing, 

Between his twa Leborahs, 
Looks round him, an' found tiienr 
Impatient for the chorus. 



AIR 

TcN»c —• " Jolly ttwrials, fll your glasses,'* 



See tlio smoking bowl before us! 

Mark our jovial, ragged ring ! 
Round and round take up the chonis, 

And in raptures let us sing. 



856 BUR.VS'S POF.M55. 



A fig for those by law protected. 
Liberty's a glorious feast ! 

Courts for cowards were erected 
Churches built to please the pri€ 



What is title ? what is treasure ? 

What is reputation's care ? 
If we lead a life of pleasure, 

'Tis no matter how or where. 
A fig, &c. 



With the ready trick and fable, 
Round we wander all the day; 

And at night, in barn or stable, 
Hug our doxies on tlie hay. 



Does the tram-attended carriage 
Thro' the country lighter rover 

Does the sobfr bed of marriage 
Witness brighter scenes of lov€? 
A fig, &c. 



Life is all a variorum, 

We regard not how it goes; 
Let tliein cant about decorum. 

Who have charartors to \oa9, 
A fig, &c. 



BURNS's POEUS. 257 



Here's to budgets, bags, and wallet*! 

Here's to all the wand'ring train! 
Here's our ragged brats and calletfl! 

One and all cry out. Amen ! 

A fig for those by law protected ! 

Liberty's a glorious feast ! 
Courts for cowards were erected, 

Ciiurches built to please the priert 



DEATH AND DR. HORNBOOK. 

A TRUE STORF. 

Some books are lies frae end to end, 
And some great lies were never penned; 
Ev'n ministers, they hae been kenn'd, 

In holy rapture, 
A rousing whid, at times to vend. 

And nail't wi' Scripture. 

But this that I am gaun to tell, 
Which lately on a night befell, 
la just as true's the Deil's in h-11 

Or Dublin city; 
That e'er he nearer comes ourseJ' 

'S a muckle pity. 

The Clachan yill had made me canty, 
I WM nae fou, but j ist had plenty; 
22* 



858 BURWS'S POEMS. 

1 stacherM whyles, but yet took tent «y 
To free the ditches ; 

An' hillocks, stanes, an' bushes, kenn'd «5 
Frae ghaists an' witches. 

The rising moon began to glow'r 
The distant Cumnock hills out owre ; 
To count her horns, wi' a' my pow'r, 

I set mysel'; 
But whether she had three or four, 

I could na tell. 



i was come round about the hill, 
An' todlin dovv^n on Willie's mill, 
Setting my staff wi' a' my skill. 

To keep me sicker; 
rho' leeward whyles, against my will, 

I took a bicker. 



1 there wi' something did forgather, 

That put me in an eerie swither ; 

An awfu' scythe, out owre ae shouther, 

Clear dangling hang; 
A three-tae'd leister on the ither 

Lay, large an' lang. 



Its stature seem'd lang Scotch ells tw», 
The queerest shape that e'er I saw, 
For fient a wame it had ava ! 

And then, its shanks, 
Thej were as thin, as sharp, an' smi' 

As cheeks o' branks!' 



BURKS S POEM?. 2M 

"Guid e'en,*' quo' I ; " Friend ! hae ye bee.1 maw« 
When ither folk are busy saw in ? " * 
It seem'd to mak a kind o' stan', 

But naething spak ; 
At length, says I, " Friend, whare ye gaun ? 

Will ye go back ? " 

It spak right ho we — " My name is Death ! 
But be na fley'd." Quo' I, "Guid faith! 
Ye're may be come to stap my breath, 

But tent me, billie; 
I red ye weel, tak care o' skaith, 

See, there's a gully!" 

" Guidman," quo' he, " put up your whittle 
I'm no design'd to try its mettle ; 
But if I did, I wad be kittle 

To be mislear'd, 
1 wad na mind it, no that spittle 

Out owre my beard." 

** Weel, weel ! " says I, " a bargain be*t ; 
Come, gie's your hand, an' sae we're gree*l 
We'll ease our shanks, an' tak a seat; 

Come, gie's your news; 
This whylef ye hae been monie a gate, 

At monie a house." 

" Ay, ay ! " quo' he, an' shook his head, 
"It's e'en a lang, lang time, indeed. 
Sin' I began to nick the tread, 

An' choke the breath* 



• This rencontre happened in seed time, 1785. 

* At. •(idemical fever was tlien raging in that country. 



fRO BURNS'S POEMS. 

Folk maun do something for their biead, 
An' sae maun Death ! 

"Sax thousarwl years are near hand fled 

Sin' I was to the hutching bred, 

An' raonie a scheme in vain's been laid 

To stap or scar me ; 
Till ane Hornbook's* taen up the trade, 

An' faith, he'll waur me! 

"Ye ken Jock Hornbook, i' the Clachan, 
Deil mak his king's-hood in a spleuchan? 
He's grown sae weel acquaint wi' BuchaxLf 

An' ither chaps. 
The weans hand out their fingers laughin. 

An' pouk my hips. 

'■'See, here's a scythe, and there's a dart, 
They hae pierc'd monie a gallant heart; 
But Doctor Hornbook, wi' his art, 

And cursed skill, 
Has made them baith no worth a f — t, 

D-mn'd haet they'll kill! 

"'Twas but yestreen, nae farther gaen^ 

I threw a noble throw at ane ; 

Wi' less, I'm sure, I've hundreds slain, 

But deil-may-care, 
It just play'd dirl on the bane. 

But did nae mair. 



• This gentleman, Dr Hornbook, is, professionally, a broth jr 1/ Um 
■ogrereign ordei of the Ferula, but, by intuitior. «iv* '"^f nf an, it m 
«!ce an apothecary, surgeon, and physician. 

i Buchan'a Domenv c Medicine. 



BCRiVS S PoEAia 

*• Hornbook was by, wi' ready art, 
And had sae fortified the part, 
That when I looked to my dart, 

It was sae blunt, 
Pient haet o't wad hae pierc'd the heart 

Of a kail-runt 

"I drew my fi-cythe in sic a fury, 
J near baud cowpi', wi' my hurry ; 
But yet the bauM Apothecary 

Withstood the shock; 
I might as weel liae tried a quarry 

O' hard whin rock. 

"Ev*n them he canna get attended, 
Altho' their face he ne'er had kenn'd it, 
Just in a kail-blade, and send it. 

As soon's he smells't, 
Baith their disease, and what will mend it 

At once he tells't 

"And i.ien a' doctor's saws an' whittleai 
Of a' dimensions, shapes, an' mettles, 
A' kind o' boxes, mugs, an' bottles. 

He's sure to hae ; 
Their Latin names aa fast he rattles 

As A B C. 

" Calces o' fossils, earth, and trees , 

True sal-marinuin o' the seas ; 
The farina of beans and peas, 

He has't in plenty : , 
Aqua-for is, what you please. 

He can c«m tent ye. 



aoi 



862 aC.iNS'S POEMS. 

*• Forby-j, a me new, uncommon weaponn, 

iJrinus spiritus o' capons ; 

Or mite-horn shavings, filings, scrapings, 

Distill'd per se ; 
Sal. ttlka'i .V midge-tail-clippings. 

And monie mae." 

Wae's me for Johnny Ged's Hole * now," 
Quo' I. " if that the news be true ! 
His braw calf-ward whare gowans grew, 

Sae white an' bonie, 
Nae doubt they'll rive it wi' the pleugh ; 

They'll ruin Johnny ! " 

The creature grain'd an eldrictch laugh, 
And says, " Ye need na yoke tlie pleugh ; 
Kirkyards will soon be till'd enough, 

Tak ye nae fear : 
They'll a' be trench'd wi' monie a sheugh, 

In twa-three year. 

" Whare I kill'd anc, a fair strae death. 
By loss o' blood, or want o' breath. 
This night I'm free to tak my aith. 

That Hornbook's skill 
Has clad a score i' their last laith. 

By drap an' pill 

" An honest wabster to his ' le, 
Whase wife's twa nieves were u^arce weel bredl 
Gat tippence-wortli to mend her h<ol, 
When it was sair: 



• The grave-digger. 



B€RNS'S POEMS. 

Tlie wife slade cannie to her bed, 
Bnt ne'er spak mair. 

"A countra laird had taen the batUi, 
Or some curmurring' in his guts : 
His only son for Hornbook sets, 

An' pays him well: 
The lad, for twa guid gimmer pets, 

Was laird himsel' 

" A bonie lass, ye kenn'd her name, 
Some ill-brewn drink had hov'd her wame 
She trusts hersel', to hide her shame, 

In Hornbook's care : 
Horn sent her aff to her lang hame, 

To hide it there. 

" That's just a swatch o' Hornbook's way ; 
Thus he goes on from day to day. 
Thus does he poison, kill, an' slay, 

An's weel paid for't ; 
Yet stops me o' my lawfu' prey, 

Wi' his d-mn'd dirt 

* But hark ! I'll tell you of a plot, 
Tho' dinna ye u« speaking o't; 
I'll nail the self-conceited sot 

As dead's a herrin; 
Niest time we meet, I'll wad a groat, 

He ffots his fairin ! " 



But just as he bega,^ to tell, 

The auld kirk-hammer strak the hell. 



264 BURr^s's poem*. 

Some wee sJK>it hour ayont the tnni. 
Which rais'd us baith,' 

I took the way that pleas'd mysel', 
And sae did Death. 



A DREAM. 



rhooghts, words, ai.d deeds, the statute blames with 
But •urely dreams were ne'er indicted treason. 

( >. , reading, ui the public papers, the Laureat's Ode, with the otlun 
tmxmi* of June 4, 1786, the author was no sooner dropt asleep, than h< 
uuvgined himself transported to the birth-day levee ; and in hia dreua 
t>Ml fancy, made llie following addr^'ss.] 

I. 

GuiD morning to your Majesty! 

May heav'n augment your blisseer, 
On every new birth-day ye see, 

An humble poet wishes ! 
My hardship here, at your levee. 

On sic a day as this is, 
Is sure an uncojth sight to see, 

Amang the birth-day dresses 
Sae fine this day. 



[ see ye're complimented thrang 

By inonie a lord and lady ; 
"God save the king J" 's a cuckoo mng, 

That's unco easy said ay ; 
The Poets, too, % venal gan^ 



BURJ*i. - I'OEMS. Qt'A 

Wi' rhymes weel-turnM and ready, 
Wad gar ye trow ye ne'er do wrang 
But ay unerring steady. 
On sic a day. 



For me! before a monarch's face, 

Ev'n there I winna flatter; 
For neither pension, post, nor place, 

Am I your humble debtor; 
So, nae reflection on your grace. 

Your kingship to bespatter; 
There's monie waur been o' the rsce 

And aiblins ane been better. 
Than you this day. 

IV. 

'Tis very true, my sov'reign king. 

My skill may weel be doubted ; 
Kut facts are chiels that winna ding, 

An' dovvna be disputed : 
Your royal nest, beneath your wing, 

Is ^/ea right reft an' clouted. 
And now the tliird part o' the string, 

An' less, will gang about it 
Than did ae day. 



Far be't fae me that I aspire 
To olame your legislation, 

Or say, ye wisdom want, or fire. 
To rule this mighty nation '. 

But faith ! I muckle doubt, my Siro, 
Ye've trusted ministration 

To chaps, wha, in a barn or byre. 



yifi BDRNS'S POEMS 

Wad better fill'd their station, 

Than courts yon day. 



And now ye've gien auld Britain peftcc, 

Her broken shins to plaster; 
Your sair taxation does her fleece, 

Till she has scarce a tester: 
For me, thank God! my life's a .^ase, 

Nae bargain wearing faster 
Or, faith! I fear, that wi' tht- geese, 

I shortly boost to pasture, 

r the craft some day 



Vm no niistrusting Willie Pitt, 

When taxes h? enlarges, 
(An' Will's a true guid fallow's ge*^ 

A name not envy spairges,) 
That he intends to pay your debt, 

An' lessen a' your charges ; 
But, G-d's sake! let nae saving-fit 

Abridge your bonie barges 

An' boats this day. 



Adieu, my Liege ! may freedom geek 

Beneath your high protection ; 
An' may ye rax corruption's neck. 

And gie her for dissection! 
But since I'm here, I'll no neglect^ 

In loyal, true affection, 
To pay your Queen, with due respec^ 

My fealty an' subjection, 

This great birth-day 



BURNS S POEMS. ^fJ'-' 



Kail, Majesty most excellent! 

While nobles strive to please ye. 
Will ye accept a complinient 

A simple Poet g'les ye ? 
Thae bonie bairn-tiine, Heav'n has lent, 
. Still higher may they heeze ye 
[n bliss, till fate some day is sent. 

For ever to release ye 

Frae care that day. 



For you, young potentate o' Wales 

I tell your Highness fairly, 
Down pleasure's stream, \vi' swelling saila, 

I'm tauld ye're driving rarely ; 
But some day ye may gnaw your nails, 

An' curse your folly sairly, 
That e'er ye brak Diana's pales, 

Or rattl'd dice wi' Charlie, 
By night or day. 



Yet aft a ragged cowte's been known 

To mak a noble aiver ; 
So ye may doucely fill a throne. 

For a' their clish-ma-claver : 
There him * at Agincourt wha shone, 

Few better were or braver ; 
And yet, wi' funny, queer Sir John«t 

He was an unco shaver. 

For monie a day. 



King Henry \ t Sir John Falstiiif Vide Shakipear*. 



WS BURNS'8 POEMS. 



For you, ricfht rev'rend O -, 

Nane sets the lawn-sieeve sweetat. 
Altho' a ribbon at your lug" 

Wad been a dr6ss completer; 
As ye disown yon paughty do^ 

That bears the keys of Peter, 
Then, swith ! an' get a wife to hug, 

Or, trouth ! ye'll stain the mitre 
Some luckless day. 



Young, royal Tarry Breeks, I learn. 

YeVe lately come athwart her; 
A glorious galley,* stem an' stern, 

Weel rigg'd for Venus' barter ; 
But first hang out, that she'll discei i 

Your hymeneal charter. 
Then heave aboard your grapple aim, 

An' large upo' her quarter. 

Come full that day. 

XIV, 

Ye, lastly, bonie blossoms a', 

Ye royal lasses dainty, 
Heav'n mak you guid as weel as braw, 

An' gie you lads a plenty ; 
But sneer na British boys awa', 

For kings are unco scant ay ; 
An' German gentles are but sma', 

They're better just than want ay, 
On onie day. 

• AUadLif to the nevspaper accoimlof a certain loyal sailor's 



ItORNS's POEMS. 70^ 



God b.ess yoii a' ! consider now, 

Ye're unco niuckle dautet ; 
But ere the course o' life be thro 

It may be bitter sautet: 
An' 1 hae seen their coggie fou, 

That yet hae tarrowM at it; 
But or the day was done, I trow, 

The laggen they hae clautet, 
Fu' clean that day. 



SCOTCH DRINK. 

Gie him strong drink until he wink, 

Thai's sinking in despair; 
An' liquor guid to fire his bluid, 

That's prest wi' grief an' care ; 
There let him bouse, an' deep caroiue, 

Wi' bumpers flowing o'er, 
Till he forgets his loves or debts, 

And minds his griefs no more. 

Solomon's Proverbs, xzzi. 0, 7 

Let other poets raise a fracas 

*Bout vines, an' wines, an' drunken Bacchiu, 

An' crabbit names an' stories wrack us, 

An' grate our lug, 
I sing the juice Scots bear can mak us, 

In glass or jug. 

O thou, my Muse i guid auld Scotch Dnnk, 
Whether thro' wimpling worms thou jink 
23* 



370 BURNS'S POEMS. 

Or, richly brown, ream o'er the brink. 

In glorious faein. 
Inspire me, till I lisp and wink. 

To sing thy name. 

Let husky Wheat the haughs adorn. 
And Aits set up their awnie horn. 
An' Pease and Beans at e'en or mom, 

Perfume the plain, 
Leeze me on thee, John Barleycorn, 

Thou king o' grain ! 

On thee aft Scotland chows her cnod. 
In souple scones, the wail o' food; 
Or tumblin' in the boiling flood, 

Wi' kail an' beef; 
But when thou pours thy strong heart's bloodi 

There thou shines chief. 

Food fills the wame, an' keeps us livin'; 
Tho' life's a gift no worth receivin'. 
When heavy dragg'd wi' pine and gnevrn* 

But oil''^ by thee, 
The wheels o' life gae down-hill, scrievin* 

Wi' rattlin' glee. 

Thou clears the head o' doited Lear; 
Thou cheers the heart o' drooping Care 
Thou strings the nerves of Labor sair, 

At's weary toil ; 
Thou even brightens dark Desprir 

Wi' gbomy smile. 

Aft, clad in massy silver weed, 
Wi' Gentles thou erects thy head; 



BURiVS S POEMS. 87 

iTet humHy kind in time o' need, 
The poor marij wine, 

His wee drap parritch, or his bread, 
Thou kitchens fine. 

Thou art the life o' public haunts ; 

But thee, what were our fairs and ranta ? 

Ev'n godly meetings o' the saunts, 

By thee inspir'd, 
When gaping they besiege the tents^ 

Are doubly fir'd. 

That merry night we gcc the com in, 
O sweetly then thou reams the horn in! 
Or reekin' on a New- Year mornin* 

In cog or bicker, 
An' just a wee drap sp'ritual burn in. 

An' gusty sucker! 

•*• 
When Vulcan gies his belloM'^s breath, 
An' ploughmen gather wi' their graith, 
O rare ! to see the fizz an' freath 

I' the lugget caup! 
Then Burnewin comes on like death 

At ev'ry chaup. 

iNae mercy, then, for airn or steel; 
The brawnie, bainie, ploughman chiel*, 
Brings hard owre'iip, with sturdjr wheel^ 

The strong forehammer, 
Till block an' studdie ring an' reel 

Wi' dinsome clanor. 

When skirlin weanies see the light. 
Thou raaks tlie gossips clatter bright 



872 BURNS'S POEMS 

How fumlin' cuifs their dearies slight; 

Wae worth the name! 
Nae howdie gets a social night, 

Or plack frae them. 

When necbors anger at a plea, 
An' just as wud as wud can be, 
How easy can the barley bree 

Cement the quarrel; 
It's aye the cheapest lawyer's fee. 

To taste the barrel. 

Alake ! that e'er my Muse had reason 
To wyte her countrymen wi' treason; 
But monie daily weet their weason 

Wi' liquors nice, 
An' hardly, in a winter's season. 

E'er spier her price. 

Wae worth that brandy, burning trash, 
Fell source o' monie a pain an' brash! 
Twins monie a poor, doylt, drunken hasi^ 

O' half his days ; 
An' sends, beside, auld Scotland's cash 

To her warst faes. 

Ye Scots, wha wish auld Scotlanc^ well! 
Ye chief, to you my tale I tell. 
Poor plackless devils like mysel'! 

It sets you ill, 
W bitter, deathfu' winee to mell. 

Or foreign gill. 

May gravels round his blather wrench, 
An' gouts torment him inch by inch. 



BCRNS'S POEMS. 27)« 

Wha twists his gruntle wi' a glumii 

O' sour disdain, 
Out owre a jrlass o' wiiiskey-puiich 

Wi' honest men. 

O Whiskey ! soul o' plays an' pranks ( 

Accept a Bardie's humble thanks ! 

When wanting thee, what tuneless crankfl 

Are my poor verses ! 
Fhou comes — they rattle i' their ranks 

At ither's a a ! 

Thee, Ferintosh ! O sadly lost ! 
Scotland, lament frae coast to coast! 
Now colic grips, and barkin hoast. 

May kill us a' ; 
For loyal Forbes' chartered boast 

Is ta'en awa' ! 

i'hae curst horse-leeches o' th' Excise, 
Wha mak the whiskey stells their prize ! 
Haud up thy han', Ueil ! ance, twice, thnc€ 

There, seize the blinkers ! 
An* bake them up in brunstane pies 

For poor d — n'd drinkers. 

Fortune ! if thou'll but gie me still 
Hale breeks, a scone, an' whiskey g'U, 
An* rowth o' rhyme to rave at will, 

Tak a' the rest, 
An deaPt p.bout as thy blind skil] 

Directs thee best. 



274 ffrnrrs's pokha. 



FHE A'JTHOR^S EARNP^ST CRY AND PRAYER* 

rO TO* SCOTCH REPRESENTATIVE? IN THE HOV8S Cf 

COMMONS. 

Dearest of distilla ion! last and besl — 
How an thou lost ! Parody on Milto.n. 

Ye Irish Lords, ye Knights an' Squires^ 

Wha represent our burghs an' shires, 
An' doucely manage our affairs 

In parliament ; 
To you a simple Poet's prayers 

Are humbly sent 

Alas ! my roupet Muse is hearse ! 

Your honors' hearts wi' grief 'twad pierce, 

To see her sittin on her a — e, • 

Low i' the dust, 
An' scriechin out prosaic verse, 

An' like to brust! 

Tell them wha hae the chief direction, 
Scotland an' me's in great affliction, 
E'er sin' they laid that curst restriction 

On Aquavitai ; 
An' rouse them up to strong conviction, 

An' move their pity. 



• This was wTitieii before ihe act anent the Scotjh di«tUleri»«, d 
MMion 17S6: for which Scotland and the author rcVini iheir most ^nom 
ill 



iSLRNrf S PoJMS 275 

Stand forth, an' tell yon Premier Voiith, 

The honest, open, naked truth ; 

Tell him o' mine an' Scotland's drruth, 

His servants humble : 
The muckle Dei! blaw ye south, 
If ye dissemble ! 

Does onie great man glunch an' gloom. 
Speak out, an* never fash your thu;:7b ! 
Let posts an' pensions sink or soom 

Wi' them wha grant 'en*.: 
f honestly they canna come, 

Far better want 'em. 

[n gath'ring votes you were na slack ; 
Now stand as tightly by your tack ; 
Ne'er claw your lug, an' fidge your back^ 

An' hum an' haw ; 
But raise your arm, an' tell your crack 

Before them a'. 

Paint Scotland greeting owre her thri^slej 
Her muchkin stoup as toom's a whistle ; 
An' d-mn'd excisemen in a busslo, 

Seizin a stell, 
Triumphant crushin't like a mussel 

Or lampit shell. 

Then on the tither hand present her, 
A blackguard smuggler right behint hef 
An' cheek-for-chow, a chu^fie vintner, 

Colleaguing join, 
Picking her poucli as bare as v-mier, 

Of a' ki'.d coi"^. 



276 BrK>:s s pofms. 

U there, that bears the name o' Scot^ 
But feels his heart's bluid rising hot, 
To sec his poor auld mither's pot 

Thus dung in staves, 
An* plunder'd o' her hindmost groat 

By gallows knaves ? 

Alas ! I'm but a nameless wight, 
Trodo i' the mire, an' out o' sight. 
But could I like Montgomcries fight, 

Or g;ib like Boswell, 
There's some sark necks I wad draw tigl t, 

An' tie some nose well. 

God bless your Honors, can ye see't, 
The kind, auld, cantie Carlin greet, 
An' no get warmly to your feet, 

An' gar them hear it, 
An' tell them wi' a patriot heat, 

Ye winna bear it! 

Some o' you nicely ken the laws, 
To round the period an' pause, 
An' wi' rhetoric clause on clause 

To mak harangues : 
Then echo thro' Saint Stephen's wa'a 

Auld Scotland's wrangs 

Dempster, a true-blue Scot Pse warrau ; 
Thee, aith-detesting, chaste Kilkerran** 
An' that glib-gabbet tlighland Baron. 
The Laird o' Graham ; f 

• Sir Adam Ferguson. + Tlie preseu' Duke of Momrose-* (1800 v 



BURNS'S I OEMS. 273 

-%n' aJie, a chap that's dam'd auldfarran. 
Dundas his name. 

Erskine, a spunkie Norland billie ; 
True Campbells, Frederick an' Ilay ; 
An Livingstone, the bauld Sir Willie; 

An' monie ithers. 
Whom auld Demosthenes or Tully 

Might own for brithers 

Arouse, my boys! exert your mettle, 
To get auld Scotland back her kettle; 
Or faith! I'll wad my new pleugh-pettle, 

Ye'll see't or lang. 
She'll teach you, wi' a reekin' whittle, 

Anither sang. 

This while she's been in canc'rous mood. 
Her lost Militia fir'd her bluid ; 
(Deil na they never mair do guid, 

Play'd her that pliskie!) 
An' now she's like to rin red-wud 

About her Whiskey. 

An' L — d, if ance they pit her till't, 
Her tartan petticoat she'll kilt. 
An' durk an' pistol at her belt, 

She'll tak the streets, 
An' rin her whittle to the hilt, 

r the first she meets! 

For G — d sake. Sirs! then speak her fiiir 
An' straik her cannie wi' the hair, 
An' to the muckle house repair, 
Wi' instant speed. 



I7fi BDRNS'S POEMar. 

An' atrive w"' a' your wit an' lear 
To get remead. 

Yon ill-tongu'd tinkler, Charlie Fox, 
May taunt you wi' his jeers an' mocka 
givLt g\e mm t het, my hearty cocks ! 

E'en cowe the caddie. 
An' send him to his dicing box 

An' sportin' lady. 

Tell yon guid bluid o' auld Bockonnock's, 
I'll be his debt twa maslilum bannocks. 
An' drink his health in auld Nanse Tinnocka/ 

Nine times a week, 
If he sortie scheme, like tea and winnocks, 

Wad kindly seek. 

Could he some commutation broach, 

I'll pledge my aith in guid braid Scotch, 

He need na fear their foul reproach. 

Nor erudition ; 
Yon mixtia-maxtie, queer hotch-potch. 

The Coalition. 

Auld Scotland has a raucle tongue; 
She's just a devil wi' a rung ; 
An' if she promise auld or young 

To tak their part, 
The' by the neck she shouM be strung, 

She'll no desert 



• A worthy olil hostess of the author's, in Mauchtin*, wher* h» 
■enetiraet atadied pulitics over a gl^ss of guid auld Scotch 4riiik. 



fiURNS S I'OF.MS. 

An' now, )'e cnosen Five-and-Forty, 
May still your mither's heart support ye 
Then, tho' a minister grow dorty, 

An' kick your place, 
Ye'll snap your fingers, poor an' he? rty, 

Before his face. 

God bless your honors a' your days, 
Wi' soups o' kail, an' brats o' claisc, 
In spite o' a' tiie thievi-sli kaes, 

That haunt Saint Jamie'» • 
Your humble Poet s»n^« an' prays 

While ^ ab his name is. 



POSTS *RIPT. 

Let half-starv'd slf ;S, in warmer skiea, 
See future wines, -ich-clust'ring, rise; 
Their lot auld P^^Jand ne'er envies, 

Bu» blythe and frisky, 
She eyes her free-born, martial boys, 

^f\k aff their whiskey. 

What tW *hjir Phoebus kinder warms. 
While ^••av-ance blooms, and beauty chJimia 
Vrh*»n ««^rctches range, in famish'd swarms, 

The scented groves, 
Or Ao\^aded forth, dishonor arms 

In hungry droves ? 

"^Leir gun's a burden on their shouther; 
They downa bide the stink o' pouther ; 
rb©»«f bauldest thought's a hank'ring swithei 
To Stan' or ria. 



^279 



I0U BDR.%S S POEMS. 

TLl skelpt — a shot ; — they're aff a throwthflf 
To save their skin. 

But bring a Scotsman frae his hill, 
Clap in his cheek a Highland gill, 
Say such is royal George's will, 

An' there's the foe! 
He has na thought but how to kill 

Twa at a blow ! 

Nae cauld, faint-hearted doubtings tease him j 
Death comes, wi' fearless eye he sees biro 
Wi' bluidy hand a welcome gies him: 

An' when he fa's, 
His latest draught o' breathin' iea'es h\n% 

In faint huzzas! 

Sa«"e8 their solemn p(m jay steek, 
Arf' raise a philosophic reek, 
An' physically causes seek, 

In clime an' seasoi. 
But tell me Whiskey's name in Greek, 

I'll tell the reason ! 

Scotland, my auld respected inither ! 
The' whyles ye moistify your leather, 
Till whare ye sit, on cr^ps o' heatlier. 

Ye tine your dam ; 
(Freedom a' Whiskey gang thegitherT 

Tvik aff y«»ur d-Tim . 



•I7RNS S POEMS. 



28\ 



ADDRESS TO THE DEIL. 

O Prince ! O Chief of many-ihroned Pow'rg, 
That led ih' einbauled Seraphim lu war. 

MlLTOH 

O thou! whatever title suit thee, 
Auld Homie, Satan, Nick, or Clootie, 
Wha in yon cavern grim an' sootie, 

Clos'd under hatches, 
Spairges about the brunstane cootie, . 

To scaud poor wretches 

Hear me, auld Hangie, for a wee. 
An' let poor damned bodies be ; 
I'm sure sma' pleasure it can gie, 

E'en to a deil, 
To skelp an' scaud poor dogs like me, 

An' hear us squeel ! 

Great is thy pow'r, an' great thy fame. 
Far kenn'd and noted is thy name; 
A 4' tho' yon lowin' heugh's thy hame. 

Thou travels far; 
An' faith! thou's neither lag nor lame. 

Nor blate nor scaur. 

Whyles, ranging like a roarin' lion. 
For prey, a' holes and corners tryin'; 
Whiles on the strong-wing'd tempest flyin 

Tirling the kirks ; 
Whvles, in the human bosom p"yin', 

Unseen thou lurks 
24* 



yCJ BURNS'a POEMi?. 

( ve heard my reverend Graunie say, 
In lanely glens you like to stray ; 
l>r where auld ruin'd castles gmy, 

Nod to the moon, 
Ve fright the nightly wand'rer's way. 

VVi' eldritch croon. 

When twilight did my Graunie summon, 
To say her prayers, douce honest woman ! 
Aft. yont the dyke she's heard you bummin', 

Wi' eerie drone; 
Or, ruBtlin', thro' the boortries comin', 

Wi' heavy groan. 

Ae dreary, windy, winter night, 

The stars shot down wi' sklentin' light, 

Wi* you, mysel', I gat a fright, 

Ayont the lough ; 
Ye, like a rash-bush, stood in sight, 

Wi' waving sougli. 

The cudge. in my nieve did shake. 
Each bristl'd hair stood like a stake. 
When wi' an eldritch stour, quaick — quaick 

Amang the springs, 
Awa ye squatter'd, like a drake, 

On whistling wing§ 

uet warlocks grim, an' wither'd haga 
Tell how wi' you on ragweed nags. 
They skim the muirs and disay crags, 

Wi' wicked speed ; 
And in kirk-yards renew their leoguea, 

Owre / owkit dead. 



BCK.NS'S PGKMS. 283 

Thence countra wives, wi' toil an' pa.n, 
May plunge an' plunge tlie kirn in vam; 
For, oh' tlie yellow treasure's taen 

By witching skill : 
An dawtit, Iwal-pint Hawkie's gaen 

As yell's the Bill. 

Thence mystic knots nak great abuse, 
On young guidmen, foi.d, keen, an' crouse; 
When the best wark-lume i' the house, 

By cantrip wit, 
[s instant made no worth a louse, 

Just at the bit. 

When thowes dissolve the snawy hoord. 
And float the jingling icy-boord. 
Then water-kelpies haunt the foord. 

By your direction; 
An' *nighted trav'llers are allur'd 

To their destruction. 

An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies 
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is: 
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monk.es 

Delude his eyes, 
Till in some miry slough he sunk is, 

Ne'er mair to rise. 

When Mason's mystic word an' grip, 
In storms an' tempests raise you up. 
Some cock or cat your rage tnaun stop^ 

Or, strange to tell ! 
The youngest brother ye wad whip 

Aff straught to h-ll 



i84 BURJVS'S POjiMS. 

Lanfif syne, in Eden's bonie yarO, 
When youthfu' lovers first were ^i.aI d| 
An* a' the saul of love they sh<i-*d 

The raptur'd hour ; 
Sweet on the fragrant, flow'ry swaird, 

In shady bow'r: 

Then you, ye auld, snick-drawing dog 

Ye came to Paradise incog., 

An' play'd on man a cursed brogue, 

(Black be your fa* !) 
An' gied th« infant warld a shog, 

*Maist ruin'd a*. 



D'ye mind that day, when in a 
Wi' reekit duds, an' reestit gizz, 
Ye did present your smoutie phiz 

'Mang better folk, 
An* sklented on the Man of Uz 

Your spitefu' joke? 



An* how ye gat him i' your thrall, 
An* brak him out o* house an* hall. 
While scabs an' blotches did him gdl, 

Wi' bitter claw, 
An* lows*d his ill-tongu'd, wicked Scaw^ 

Was warst ava? 

But a' your doings to rehearse. 
Your wily snares an' fechtin fierce. 
Sin' that day Michael * did you pierce, 
Down to this time. 

Vide Miliou. Book VI. 



BUR.\S'S POEMS. ia65 

Wad ding a Lalland tongue, or Erse, 
In prose or rhyrr.e. 

An' now, auld Cloots, J ken ye're thinkin 
A certain Bardie's rantin, drinkin. 
Some luckless hour will send him linkin 

To your black pit: 
But, faith ! he'll turn a corner jinkin, 

An' cheat you yet! 

But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-bcn! 
O, wad ye tak a thought, an' men', 
Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — 

Still hae a stake — 
I'm wae to think upo' your den, 

Ev'n for your isake' 



ON THE LATE CAPTAIN GROSE'S PEREGRi 
NATIONS THROUGH SCOTLAND, 

COLLECTING THE ANTIQUITIES OF THAT KINGDOM. 

Hear! land o' cakes, and brither Scota. 
Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's, 
If there's a hole in a' your coats, 

I rede ye tent it: 
A chiel's amang you taking notes, 

And, faith, he'll prent iU 

If in your bounds ye chance to ight| 
Upon a fine, fat, fodgel wight. 



28fi BURxVS's P0EM3. 

O stature short, but genius h ight, 

'i'liut's he — mar i weel ; 

And wow ! he has an unco dight 
O' cauk and k*,e\. 

By some auld, houlet-haunfed bigj,in,* 

Or kirk deserted by its ri|;r;ln, 

It's ten to ane ye'U find Kim snug Id 

Some eldritch part, 
Wi' dcils, they say, L — d save's ! colleaguiu 

x\t some black art. 

Ilk ghaist that iiaunts auld ha' or cham'er, 

Ye gipsey-gang that ('.eal in glamor. 

And you, deep-read in hell's black grammai 

VVarlocxs and witches ! 
Ye'll quake at his conjuring hammer, 

Ye. midnight bitches! 

It's tauld he was a sodger bred. 
And ane wad rather fa'n than fled ; 
But now he's qaat the spurtle blade, 

And dog-skin wallet, 
And taen the — antiquarian trade, 

I think they call it. 

lie has a fouth o' ah nick-nackets I 
Rusty airn caps and jinglin jackets,f 
Wad had the Lothians three m tackets, 

A towmont guid ; 
And paraitch-pats, and auld saut-backeta, 

Before the flood. 



• Vide his Amiqiiiiies or iSeoilaiid t Vide liis Treatise on Anci«nl 
knnor and U'eapoiis. 



BURNS'3 POEMS. 

Of Eve's first fire he has a cindei ; 

A aid Tubal Cain's fire-shool and fender', 

That which distinguished the gender 

O' Balaam's ass ; 
A oroom-stick o' the witch of Endor, 

Wcel shod wi' brass. 

FVbye he'll shape you atf, fu' gleg. 
The cut of Adam's philibeg ; 
The knife that nicket Abel's craig 

He'll prove you fully: 
It was a faulding jocteleg, 

Or lang kail-gullie. 

But wad ye see him in his glee, 
For meikle glee and fun has he, 
Then set him down, and twa or three 

Guid felloAvs wi' him: 
And Port, O Port! shine thou a wee. 

And then ye'll see him! 

Now, by the pow'rs o' verse and prose 
Thou art a dain'y chiel, O Grose! 
Whae'er o' thee shall ill suppose, 

They sair misca' thee; 
Tc tak the rascal by the nose, 

Wad sav, Shame fa' the* 



487 



BORNS S POEMS. 



LINES 

ITBITTE'* IS A WRAIPER, ENCLOSING A LETTER TO 
CAPTAIN 6ROSE, TO BE LEFT WITH MR. CARTOIfRBLi, 
ANTIQUARIAN. 

Tune — " Sir John Malcolm.*' 

Ken ye aug-ht o' Captain Grose? 

I go, and ago, 
If he's aniang his friends or foes ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he south, or is he north ? 

I go, and ago. 
Or drowned in the river Forth ? 

Iram, coram, dago. 

Is he slain by Highland bodies ? 

I go, and ago, 
And eaten hke a wether-haggis ? 

Iram, coram, daga 

la he to Abram's bosom gane ' 

Igo, and ago. 
Or hauden Sarah by the wane r 

Iram, coram, dago 

Where'er he be, the Lord be near mm 

Igo, and ago, 
A* for the f)eil, he da'ir na steer him! 

Iram, coram, dago. 



BURNS S POEMI. 

But please transmit the enclosed letter, 

Igro, and ago, 
Which will oblige your humble debtor, 

[ram. coram, daffo. 

So may ye hae auld stanes in store, 

Igo, and ago, 
I'he very stanes that Adam bore, 

I ram, coram, dago. 

So may ye get in glad possession. 

Igo, and ago, 
The coins o' Satan's coronation! 

Iram, coram, dago. 



^ 



EPIGRAM ON CAPTAIN GROSE. 

TiJE Heil got notice that Grose was a-dying, 

llo. whip! at the summons, old Satan came flying; 

Cut when he ap[)roach'd where poor Francis lay moau 

iriLf, 
And saw each bed-post with its burden a-groanirg^, 
Aotoiush'd ! confounded! cried Satan, "By G — d, 
I'll want Mm, ere I take such a d ble load."* 



• Mr (] rose was exccotliugly corpiilem, and used lo rally huriself; 
wiih the sr«aifsi sorxl Imiimr, on the singular roiumliiy of hi« figure. 
Tins e|)igram, wniieii by Burns iii'a momeiil of fesiivily, was so much 
relished hy the aniiquarian, thai he made it serve as an excuse for pro 
oiU(ing the convivial occasion Uiai gave il birlh, to a very late hour. 

2.S 



BURiVS S POKMSk 



LINES 

OV AN liNTERVIEW WITIJ LOKD DAEII, 

Tins wot ye all Avhom it concerna, 
I, Rhymer Robin, alias Burns, 

October twcnty-tJiird, 
A ne'er-to-be-for<Tottcn day, 
Sae tar I spreckled up the brae, 

I dinner'd wi' a liord! 

I've boon at drucken writers' feasts. 
Nay, boon bitch fou 'mang' godly priests, 

Wi' rev'ronce be it spoken: 
I've even join'd the honor'd jorum, 
When mighty squireships of the quorum 

Their hydra drouth did sloken. 

But wi' a Lord — stand out jny shin ! 
A Lord, a Peer, an Earl's son ! 

Up higher yet, my bonnet! 
And sic a Lord — lang Scotch ells twa! 
Our peerage he o'erlooks them a*, 

As I look o'er my sonnet 

Bift oh, for Hogarth's magic power ! 
To show Sir Bardy's willyart glow'r, 

And how he star'd and stamn><»»*d 
When goa\an, as if led wi' branks. 
An' stimipin on his ploughman shanks, 

He in the parlor hamri*^r'd. 



f, sliding, shelter'd in i nook, 
An' at his Lordship steal't a look 

Like some portentous omen* 
Kxcopt good sense and social ^leo, 
An' '^what surpris'd me) modesty, 

I marked nought uncommon. 

I watch'd the symptoms o' the great. 
The gentle pride, the lordly state, 

The arrogant assuming ; 
The fient a pride, nae pride .^^ad he, 
Nor sauce, nor state, th^ ^ could see, 

Mair than an honest ploughman. 

Then from his Lordship I shall learn, 
Henceforth to meet with unconcern 

One rank as weei's another: 
Nae honest, worthy man need care, 
To meet with noble, youthful Daer, 

For he but meets a brothe'. 



THE INVENTORY. 

»H kV9VrT,ti TO A .MANDATE BY THE S JRV£Y0R Jf rUl 
TAXES. 

Sir, as your mandate did request, 
I send you here a faithfu' list 
O' gudes an' gear, an' a' my graith, 
To wh 'h I'm clear to gie my aith. 



89i2 BURItfl^S POEMS. 

Imprimis, then, for carriage cattle, 
I hae four brutes o' gallant mettle, 
As ever drew afore a pettle. 
My Lan'- afore's * a guid auld hfis-be<y% 
An wight an wilfu' a' his days seen* 
My Lan'-ahin'sf a weel gatm fillie, 
That aft has borne me hame frae Killie) 
An' your auld burro' monie a time, 
In days when riding was nae crime ; 
But ance, when in my wooing pride, 
I, like a blockhead, boost to ride. 
The wilfu' creature sae I pat to, 
(L — d pardon a' my sins, an' that to!) 
1 play'd my fillie sic a shavie. 
She's a' bedevil'd wi' the spa vie. 
My Furr-ahin's § a wordy beast 
As e'er in tug or tow was trac'd. 
The fourth's a Highland Donald hastie, 
A d — n'd red-wud Kilburnie blastie; 
Forbye a Cowt o' Cowt's the wale. 
As ever ran afore a tail. 
If he be spar'd to be a beast. 
He'll draw me fifteen pun' at least. 

Wheel-carriages I hae but few, — 
Three carts, an' twa are feckly new ; 
Ane auld wheel-barrow, mair for token, 
Ae leg an' baith the trams are broken ; 
I made a poker o' the spin'le, 
An' my auld mither brunt the trin'le. 



* The fore-horse on ilie left-li:uul, in the ploug-h. 

t Tiie hindmost uii ihe lefi-hand, m the plough. 

J Kiimarnock 

it The hindiiiosii horse ou the righl-hand, in the plougk 



BUllNS'S POEMS. 29Q 

Fcr men, I've three mischievous bojs. 
Tun deils f;r rantin and for noise; 
A gaudsmc i ane, a thrasher t'other, 
Wee Davoc hands the nowt in fother. 
I rule them as 1 ought, discreetly, 
An' aften labor them completely; 
An' ay on Sundays, duly, nightly, 
I on the questions targe them tightly ; 
Till, faith ! wee Davoc's turn'd sae gleg, 
Tho' scarcly langer than your leg. 
He'll screed you aff Effectual Calling, 
As fast as onie in the dwalling. 
I've nane in female servan' station, 
(L — d, keep me ay frae a' temptation!) 
I hae na wife ; and that my bliss is. 
An' ye hae laid na tax on misses; 
An' then, if kirk-folk dinna clutch me, 
I ken the devils dare na touch me. 

Wi' weans I'm mair than weel contented, 
Heav'n sent me ane mair than I wanted ; 
My sonsie, smirking, dear-bought Bess, 
She stares the daddie in her face, 
Eno igh of aught ye like but grace; 
But her, my bonie, sweet, wee lady 
I've paid eneugh for her already ; 
An' gin ye tax her, or her mither, 
B' t'le L- -d, ye'se get them a' thegither 

And now, remember, Mr. Aiken, 
Nae kind of license out I'm takin' 
Frae this time forth, I do deClare, 
Fse ne'er ride norse nor hizzie mair ; 
Thro' dirt an' dub for life I'll paddle, 
Ere I sae dear pay for a saddle ' 
25% - ■ 



894 BURNS'S POKMS. 

My travel a' on foot I'll shank it, 
I've sturdy bearers, Gude be thank it. 

Tlie kirk an' you may tak you that, 
It puts but little in your pat : 
Sae dinna put me in your buke, 
Noi for my ten white shillings luke. 

This list, wi' my ain ha*id I wrote it, 
Day and date as under notit; 
Then, know all ye whom it concerns, 
Suhscripsi. kuic, Robert BuRm. 

Mossgid, Feb. 22, 1786. 



TO A LOUSE, 

IN SEEING Q-VE ON A LADY's BONNET, AT CHURi 

Ha ! whare ye gaun, ye crowlin ferlie r 
Your impudence protects you sairly, 
I canna say but ye strunt rarely 

Owre gauze an' lace; 
The' faith, I fear ye dine but sparely 

On sic a place. 

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner, 
Detested, nhunn'd, by saunt and sinner, 
How dare ye set your fit upon her, 

Sae riiie a lady? 
flae somewhere else, and seek yout ^.innei 

On some poor body! 



EUKNS'S POEMS. 294 

Stvit.h, in some bejrgar's haffet squattier 
Ther(,' yc may creep, and sprawl, and spratt.e 
VVi' ithcr kindred juiiipin cattle, 

In shoals and nations : 
Wliare horn ncr bane ne'er dare unsettle 

Your thick plantations. 

I'^ow hand ye tiiere, ye're out o' sight, 
Below the fatt'rils, snug an' tight : 
Na, faith, ye yet! ye'll no be right 

Till ye've got on it, 
The vera tapmost, tow'ring height, 

O' Miss's bonnet 

My sooth ! right bauld ye set your nose out, 
As plump and gray as onie grozet; 

for some rank, mercurial rozet, 

Or fell red smeddum, 
I'd gie you sic a hearty dose o't, 

Wad dress your droddum* 

1 wad na been surpris'd to spy 
Von on an auld wife's flainen toy; 
Or aiblins some bit duddie boy, 

On's wyliecoat ; 
Hut Miss's fi.ie Lunardi ! fie, 

H' w dare you do't ? 

O, Jenny, dinna toss your head, 
An' set your beauties a' abread! 
Ye ."ittle ken what cursed speed 

The blastie's makin I 
Thae winks and finger-ends, I dreadl 

Are notice takm ! 



B9fi BDRNS'S POEMS. 

O, wad some Pow'r the giflie g\e ua 

T« see oursels as it.hers see us I 

It wad frae monie a blunder free us, 

And foolish notion ; 
What airs in dress an' gait wad lea'e 

And ev'n Dc otion ! 



ADDRESS TO THE TOOTH-ACHE. 

Mt curse upon thy venom^d stang", 
That shoots my tortur'd gums alang; 
An' thro' my lugs gies monie a twang, 

Wi' gnawing vengeance! 
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang.. 

Like racking engines * 

When fevers burn, or ague freezes. 
Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes, 
Our neighbor's sympathy may ease ua^ 

Wi' pitying moan; 
But thee, thou hell o' a' diseases. 

Ay mocks our groan! 

Adown my beard the slavers trickle! 
1 tlirow the wee stools o'er the micklei 
As round the fire the giglets keckle 

To see me loup ; 
While, raving mad, 1 wish a heckle 

Were in their doup! 

O' a' the num'rous human dools, 
111 har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools. 



BURKS S P«)EMS *iW 

Or worthy friends rack'd i' the mods, 

Sad sight to see! 
Tfce tricks of knaves, or fash o' fools, 

Thou bear'st the gree. 

Where'er that place be priests ca hell, 
Whence a' the tones o' mis'ry yell, 
And ranked plagues their numbers tell, 

In dreadfu' raw, 
Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell 

Amang them a' ! 

O thou grim mischief-making chiel. 
That gars the notes of discord squeel. 
Till daft mankind aft dance a reel 

In gore a shoe-thick ; 
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal 

A townmond's Toothache ! 



TO A HAGGIS. 

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face 
Great chieftain o' the puidin race! 
Aboon them a' ye tak your place, 

Painch, tripe, or thairra 
Weel are ye wordy of a grace 

As lang's my arm. 

itie gioaning trencher there you fill, 
Your hurdles like a distant hill. 



898 BURNS'S POEMS. 

Your pin wad help to mend a jaill 

In time o' need, 
While thro' your pores the dews distjl 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic labor dight, 
An' cut you up wi' ready slight, 
Trenching your gushing entrails bright, 

Like onie ditch ; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 

Warm-reeking, rich ! 

Then horn for horn they stretch an 8triv«i 
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive ; 
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes beljrve 

Are bent like drums ; 
Then auld guidman, maist like to rive, 

Bethankit hums. 

Is there that o'er his French ragout^ 
Or olio that Avad staw a sow. 
Or fricasse wad mak her spew 

Wi' perfect sconner, 
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view 

On sic a dinner ? 

Poor Devil ! see him owre his trash. 
As feckless as a wither'd rash. 
His spindle-shank, a guid whiplash, 

His nieve a nit; 
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash. 

O how unfit ! 

But mark the rustic, hcggis-fed, 

The trembling earth resounds his tread 



BURNS'S POKMS. ^ifd 

Clap in his walie nieve a blade, 

He'll mak it whistle ; 
An' lagg an' arms, an' heads will ened. 

Like taps o' thissle. 

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care, 
And dish taem out their bill o' fare, 
Auid Scotland Avants na skinking ware 

That jaups in luggies ; 
But, if ye wish her gratefu' pray'r, 

Gie her a Haggis ! 



THE HOLY FAIR.* 

A robe of seeming iruih and irusl 

HiiJ crafty Observation; 
And secret hnni;;. with poison'd crusl. 

The dirk of Defatn.iiion: 
A musk that like Uie gor-jei show'd, 

Dye-varymg on the pigeon ; 
A nd for a mantle large and broad, 

He wrapt him in Religion. 

Hypocrisy A-la-modx. 



Upon a simmer Sunday morn, 
WhbU Nature's face is fair, 

I walked forth to view the com. 
An' snuif the caller air : 



• Holy Fair is a '^•ommon phrase in the (vext of S'o' land for* 
■euiui occasion. 



300 BCRNS'S POEMliJ. 

The risinjr sun owre Galston mu'irf, 
Wi' glorious light was gluitin; 

The hares weri hirplin down the fuim 
The lav'rocks they were chantin* 
Fu' sweet that day 



As lightsomely I glowVd abroad, 

To see a scene sae gay, 
Three Hizzies, early at the road. 

Cam skelpin' up the way ; 
Twa had manteeles o' dolefu' black, 

But ane wi' lyart lining; 
The third, that gaed a-wee-a-back, 

Was i' the fashion shining 
Fu' gay that day. 



The twa appeared like sisters twin. 

In feature, form, an' claes; 
Their visage wither'd, lang, an thin. 

An' sour as onie slaes : 
The third cam up, hap-step-an'-loup, 

As light as onie lambie, 
An' wi' a curchie low did stoop. 

As soon as e'er she saw me, 
Fu' kind that day. 



Wi' bonnet aff, quoth I, "Sweet lam^ 
I think ye seem to ken me ; 

I'm sure I've seen that bonie face, 
But yet I canna name ye." 

Quo' she, an' laughing" as she spak. 
An' take me by the hands. 



BURNS'S POEMS. 301 

**Ye, for my sake, hao gier the feck 
Of a' the ten commands 

A screed some day 

V. 

" My name is Fun — your cronie deta 

The nearest friend ye hae ; 
An' this is Supcrstiti .n here, 

An' that's Hypocrisy. 
I'm gaun to Holy Fair, 

To spend an hour in daffin ; 
Gin ye'll go thare, yon runkl'd pair. 

We will get famous laughin' 
At them this day." 



Quoth I, "With a' my heart, V\] do't, 

I'll get my Sunday sark on, 
An' meet you on the holy spot: 

Faith, we'se hae fine reniarkiu' ' " 
Then I gaed hame at crowdie tmiH, 

An' soon I made me ready : 
For roads were clad, frae side ro siile, 

Wi' monie a weary body. 

In droves that (hiy. 



Here farmers gash, in ridin' graith, 

Gaed hoddin by their cotters ; 
There, swankies, >oung, in braw braid clotil, 

A re springin' o'er the gutters ; 
Tne lasses, skelpin barefit, thrang, 

In silks an' scarlets glitter; 
26 



RUK.VS S POEMS 

Wi sweet-milk cheese, in none a whan)( 
An' farls bak'd wi' butter 

Fu' crump tliat day. 

VIII. 

When by the plate we set our nose, 

Weel heaped up wi' ha'pence, 
A greedy glow'r Black Bonnet throws, 

An' we maun draw our tippence. 
Then in we go to see the show — 

On ev'ry side they're galh'rin'. 
Some carrying dales, some chairs an stool 

And some are busy blethrin 

Right loud that day. 



Here stands a shed to fend llie show'ra. 

An' screen our countra gentry, 
There racer Jess, an' twa-throo wh-res, 

Are blinkin at tlie entry ; 
Here sits a raw of tittliiV jndos, 

Wi' heaving- breast and bare neck. 
An' there a batch of wabster lads. 

Blackguarding frae K— — ck, 
For fun this day. 



Here some are thinking on their sins, 
An' some upo' their chies; 

Ane curses feet that fyl'd his shins, 
Anither sighs an' prays. 

On this hand sits a chosen 8wat<;h, 
Wi' screwM-up, gr.ace-proud faces 



BURNS's POB,MS. jk"^ 



On that a set o' chaps at watch, 
Thrang winkin on the lasses, 
To chairs that day. 



O happy is the man an' ble st ! 

Nae wonder that it pride him ! 
Whase ain dear lass, that he likes best, 

Comes clinkin down beside him! 
Wi' arm repos'd on the chair back, 

He sweetly does compose him! 
Which, by degrees, slips round her necc 

An's loof upon her bosom, 

Unkenn'd that day. 



Now a' the congregation o'er 

In silent expectation; 
For s pee Is the holy door, 

Wi' tidings o' damnation. 
Should Hornie, is in ancient days, 

'Mang sons o' G-d present him, 
The very sight o' 's face, 

To's ain het harne had sent him, 
Wi' fright that day. 



Hear liow he clears the points o* faim 
Wi' rattlin an' wi' thumpin' ! 

Now meekly calm, now wild in wrath, 
He's stHinpm', un' he's jumpin". 

HivS leugthcn'd chm, his turn'd-up snout, 
His eldritch squoel and gestures. 



S04 BCKNS'S POEMS. 

(), how they fire the heart devout, 
Like cantharidian plasters, 
On sic a day. 

xif. 

But hark! the tent has chang'd ita voie«; 

There's peace an' rest na langer ; 
For a' the real judges rise, 

They canna sit for anger. 
opens out his cauld harangues, 

On practice and on morals ; 
An' aff the godly pour in thrangs, 

To gie the jars an' barrels 
A lift that day. 



What signifies his barren shine, 

Of moral pow'rs and reason ? 
His English style, an' gesture fine. 

Are a' clean out o' season : 
Like Socrates or Antonine, 

Or some auld pagan Heathen, 
The moral man he does define. 

But ne'er a word o' faith in 

That's right that day 

In guid time comes an antidote 
Against the poison'd nostrum; 

For , frae the water-fit, 

Ascends the holy rostrum . 

Sae, up he's got the Word o' G-a 
An' meek an' mim has view'd it 



BURNS'S POEMS. 



30n 



While Crmmon Sense has taen the road, 
An' aff, an' up the Cowgate,* 
Fast, fast, that day 



XVII. 



^ee , niest, the guard relieves, 

An' Orthodoxy raibles, 
Tho' in his heart he weel believes. 

An' thinks it auld wives' faibles ; 
But, faith! the birkie wants a manse, 

So, cannily he hums them, 
Altho' his carnal wit an' sense 

Like hafflins ways o'ercomes him, 
At times that day. 



Now butt an' ben, the Change-house fillf 

Wi' yill-caup Commentators; 
Here's crying out for bakes and gills, 

An' there the pint stowp clatters; 
While thick an' thrang, an' loud an' lang, 

Wi' Logic, an' wi' Scripture, 
They raise a din that, in the end, 

Is like to breed a rupture 

O' wrath that day. 

XIX. 

Leeze me on drink! it gies us mair 
Than either school or college; 

U kindles wit, it waukens lair, 
It pangs us fou o' knowledge: 



• A street so called, which faces the tent in • 

26* 



B06 BURNS'S I'OEMS. 

Be't .rhlskey gill, or penny wheep^ 
Or onie stronger potion, 

It nuver fails, on drinking deep, 
To kittle up our notion 

By night or day. 



The lads and lasses blithely bent 

To mind baith saul an' body, 
Sit round the table, weel content, 

An' steer about the toddy. 
On this ane's dress, an' that ane's leuk 

They're making observations ; 
While some are cozie i' the neuk. 

An' fonnin assignations 

To meet some day. 



But now the L — d's ain trumpet touts, 

Till a' the hills are rairin, 
An' echoes back return the shouts; 

Black is na spairin : 

His piercing words, like Highland 9»Tord» 

Divide the joints and marrow; 
His talk o' Hell, where devils dwelJ. 

Our vera sauls does harrow * 
Wi' fright that day. 

XXII. 

A vEst, unbottom'4 boundless pit, 
FiLl'd fou o* lowin brunstane, 

Shakspeare's Hamlet. 



BURNS S POEMS. IKW 

Wha's ra^in Hame, an' scorchin he^l. 
Wad melt the hardest whunatane! 

The half-asleep start up wi' fear, 
An' think they hear it roarin, 

When presently it does appear 
Twas but some neebor snorin. 
Asleep that day. 



Twad be owre lang a tale to tell, 

How monie stories past, 
An' how they crowded to the yill. 

When they were a' dismist; 
How drink gaed round, in cogs an' cau|« 

Amang the furms an' benches ; 
An' cheese an' bread, frae women's laps, 

Was dealt about in lunches 

An' dawds tliat day. 



In comes a gaucie, gash guidwife, 

An' sits down by tiie fire. 
Syne draws her kebbuck an' her knife, 

The lasses they are shyer. 
The auld guidmen, about the grace, 

Frae side to side they bother. 
Till gome ane by his bonnet lays, 

An' glee them't like a tether 
Fu' lang that day. 

XXV. 

Waesucka ! for him that gets no laM 
Or lasses that has naethinflr! 



8(18 BURNS^S F0EM9 

Sma' need has he to say a grace, 
Or melvie his braw claething ' 

O wives, be mindfu' ance yoursel* 
How bonie lads ye wanted ! 

An' dinna, for a kebbuck heel, 
Let lasses be affronted, 

On sic a day ! 



Now Clinkumbell, wi' rattlin tow. 

Begins to jow an' croon; 
Some swagger hame the best they dow. 

Some wait the afternoon. 
At slaps the billies halt a blink, 

Till lasses strip their shoon; 
Wi' faith an' hope, an' love an' drink. 

They're a' in famous tune 

For crack that day. 

XXVIl. 

How monie heats this day converts, 

O' sinners and o' lasses ! 
Their hearts o' stane, gin night are ganfl^ 

As saft as onie flesh is. 
There's some are fou o' love divine, 

There's some are fou o' braniy, 
An' monie jobs that day begin, 

May end in Houghmagandie, 
Some ither day. 



BURNS'S POEMS. 309 



THE ORDINATIOW. 

For Jfenae they little owe to frugal Heav'j ■— 
To please the mob they hide the little giv'n 



Kilmarnock Wabsters fido^e an' claw 

An' pour your crecshie nations ; 
An' ye wha leather rax an' draw, 

Of a' denominations : 
Swith to the Laigh Kirk, ana an' a'. 

An' there tak up your stations ; 
Then alf to Begbie's in a raw, 

An' pour divine libitions 

For joy his day. 



Curst Common Sense, tsat imp o' hell, 

Cam in wi' Maggie Lauder;* 
But O art made her yell, 

An' R sair misca'd her; 

This day, M' takes the flail, 

An' he's the boy will blaud her! 
He'll clap a shangan on he tail, 

An' set the bairns to daud her 
Wi' dirt this dav. 



' AUuding lo a scodiiig- ballad which was made on the admiauoD tt 
lai« reverend and wortliv Mr. L. to the Laisift K'rk. 



no BURNS'S POEMfl. 



Mak haste an' turn King David owre, 

An' lilt wi' holy clangor ; 
O' double verso come gie us four, 

Ail' skirl up the Bangor: 
This day the Kirk kicks up a stoure, 

Nae mair the knaves shall wrang her 
For heresy is in her power, 

And gloriously she'll whang her 
Wi' pith this day. 



Come, let a proper text be read, 

An' touch it aff wi' vigor, 
How graceless Ham * leugh at his Dad, 

Which made Canaan a nigger ; 
Or Phineasf drove tlie murdering blade, 

Wi' whore-abhorring rigor ; 
Or Zipporah, t the scaulding jade. 

Was like a bluidy tiger 

I' the inn that day 



There, try his mettle on the creed, 
And bind him down wi' caution, 

That Stipend is a carnal weed 
He taks but for the fashion; 

And gie him o'er the flock, to feed, 
And punish each transgression; 



* Genesis, cli. ix. ver. 22. 
t Numbers, ch. xxv. ver. 8. 
t Exodus, ch. iv ver 25 



RURNS'S I'OEMS. 311 

Esjjecial, rams that cross the breed, 
Gie tlieiii sufficient threshin, 

Spare them nae day. 



Now auld Kilmarnock, cock thy tail, 

Anl toss thy horns fu' canty; 
Nae mair thou'lt rowte out-owre the dale 

Because thy pasture's scanty ; 
For lapsfu' large o' gospel kail 

Shall fill thy crib in plenty, 
An' runts o' grace the pick and wale 

No gien by way o' dainty. 
But ilka day. 



Nae mair by Babel's streams we'll we«p 

To think upon our Zion ; 
And hing our fiddlers up to sloqj, 

Like baby-clouts a-dryin. 
Come, screw the pegs wi' tunefu' cheep, 

And o'er the thairms be trym ; 
Oh, rare ! to see our elbucks wheep. 

An' a' like lamb-tails flying 

Fu' fast this day! 

VIII. 

Lang patronage, wi' rod o' aim 
Has shor'd the kirk's undoin, 

As lately F-nw-ck, sair forfairn, 
Has proven to its ruin: 

Our Patron, honest man! Glencairn, 
He saw minchief was brewin, 



812 BURNS'S POtMS. 

And, like a godly elect bairn, 
He's wal'd us out a true ane, 

And sound this daj. 



Now R harangue nae mair. 

But steek your gab for ever; 
Or try the wicked town of Ayr, 

For there they'll think you clever; 
Or, nae reflection on your lear, 

Ye may commence a shaver! 
Or to tlie Netherton repair, 

An' turn a carper weaver 

Aff hand this day. 



M' and you were just a match, 

Wo never had sic twa drones ; 
Auld Hornie did the Laigh Kirk watch, 

Just like a winkin' baudrons : 
An' aye he catch'd the tither wretcln, 

To fry them in his caudrons; 
But now his honour maun detach, 

Wi' a' his brimstone squadrons, 

Fast, fast, this day. 



See, see auld Orthodoxy's faea, 
She's swingein' through the city ; 

Hark how the nine-tail'd cat she playi! 
I vow it's unco pretty : 

Theic. Learning, wi' his Greekisb faco* 
Grunts out some Latin ditty; 



BURNS'S POEMS. 



319 



An' Common Sense is gaun, she says. 
To mak to Jamie Beattie 

Her plaint tliis day. 



XII. 



But there's Morality himse^', 

Embracing a' opinions; 
Hear, how he gies the tither /ell, 

Between his twa companions ; 
See, how she peels the skin an' fell, 

As ane were peelin' onions! 
Now there -they're packed aif to hell. 

An' banished our dominions, 

Henceforth this day. 



O happy day! rejoice, rejoice! 

Come bouse about the porter! 
Morality's demure decoys 

Shall here nae mair find quarter 
M'. -, R , are the boys, 

That heresy can torture; 
They'll gie her on a rape a hoyse. 

An' cowe her measure shorter 

By the head some day 



Come, bring the tither mutchkin in, 
An' here's for a conclusion: 

To every new-light mother's son. 
From this time forth, Confuson ; 
27 



314 BURNS'S POKMS. 

If mair thoy deavo us with their din 

Or Patron ajo^e intrusion, 
We'll light a spunic, and, ev'ry skin, 

We'll rin them aff in fusion. 
Like oil, some day 



ADDRESS 

TO THE UNCO GUID, OR RIGIDLY RIOHTKOUI. 

Afy son, these maxims make a rule, 

And lump them ay ihegilher: 
The rigid righteous is a fool, 

The riyid wise aniUier 
The cleanest corn thnt e'er \va« dighl 

May hae some pyles o' cart in; 
So ne'er a fellow-cre-iiure sUglil 

For raiulom fits o' dalTm. 

Solomon.— Eccles. ch. vii., ver. }£ 



O rE wha are sae guid yoursel' 

Sae pious and sae holy, 
Ye've nought to do but mark ant* teil 

Your neebor's faults and folly ! 
Whase life is like a weel-gaun mill, 

Supplied wi' store o' water, 
The heapit happer's ebbinj still. 

And still the clap plays clatter 



Hear me, ye venerable core. 
As counsel for poor mortala. 



BDRNS'S POEMS. 315* 

That frequent pass aouce Wisdom's Joor, 

For glaiket Folly's portals : 
I, for their thoughtless, careless sakea^ 

Wou'd here propone defences, 
Their donsie tricks, their black niistakei 

Their failings ar.d mischance'*. 



Ye see your state wi* their's compared, 

And shudder at the niffer ; 
But cast a moment's fair regard, 

What makes the mighty differ : 
Discount what scant occasion gave, 

That purity ye pride in, 
And (what's aft mair than a' the lave), 

Your lietter art o' hidinnf. 



Think, when your castigated pulse 

Gies now and then a wallop. 
What ragings must his veins convu 

That still eternal gallop : 
Wi' wind and tide fair i' your tail, 

Right on ye scud your sea-way j 
But in the teeth o' baith to sail, 

It maks an unco leeway. 



See social life and glee sit down, 
All joyous and unthinking, 

Till quite transniogrify'd tiiey're grown 
Debauchery and drinking ; 

O would they stay to calculate 
Th' eternal consequences; 



816 BDRNS'S POEMS. 

Or, your m^re dreaded hell to sUtiL 
Damnation of expenses ! 

VI, 

\e high exalted, virtuous dames, 

Tied up in godly laces, 
Before ye gie poor Frailty namef, 

Suppose a change o' cases: 
A dear-lpv'd lad, convenience snug, 

A treacherous inclination ; 
But, let me whisper i' your lug, 

Ye're aiblins nae temptation. 



Then gently scan your brother man. 

Still gentler sister woman ; 
Tho' they may gang a kennir.g wrang 

To step aside is human: 
One point must still be greatly dark. 

The moving ivhy they do it; 
And just as lamely can ye mark 

How far perhaps tliey rue it. 



Who made the heart, 'tis he alone 

Decidedly can try us ; 
He knows each chord, its various tont 

Each spring, its various bias : 
Then at the balance let's be mute. 

We never can adjust i.; 
What's done we partly may compute 

But know not what's resisted 



BURN3 S POEMS. 317 



THE rWA HERDS.* 

O a' ye pious, godly flocks, 
^'eel fed on pastures orthodox, 
Wha now will keep you frae the fox, 

Or worrying tykes, 
Or wha will tent the waifs and crocks. 

About the dykes? 

The twa best herds in a' the wast, 
That e'er gaed gospel horn a blast, 
These five-and-twenty simmers past, 

O' dool to tell, 
Hae had a bitter, black out-cast 

At ween themseP. 

O M y, man, and wordy R 11, 

How could you raise so vile a bustle, 
Ye'll see how new-light herds will whistle 

And think it fine ; 
The L — d's cause ne'er gat sic a twistle 

Sin' I hae min'. 

O sirs whae'er wad hae expeckit, 
Your duty ye wad sae negleckit, 
Ye, wha were ne'er by lairds respeckit 
To wear ttie plaid. 



• / is piece was among the first of our author's productions whici 
»« eub.nitied to the public, and was occasioned byadispate betweei 
wo cU-rgymen, neai Kilmarnock. 

27* 



118 BURNS'S POF.MS. 

But by tie brutes themselveg elecKii 
To be their guide. 

W.:it flock wi' M y's flock could rank? 

Sae hale and hearty ev'ry shank, 
Nae poison'd, sour, Arminian stanU 

He let them taste; 
Fra** Calvin's well, ay clear, they drank, 

O sic a feast ! 

The thummart wil'-cat, brock, and tod, 
Weel kenn'd his voice thro' a' the wood, 
He smelt their ilka hole and road, 

Baith out and in. 
And weel he lik'd to shed their bluid, 

And sell their skin. 

Wliat herd like R 11 tell'd his tale "> 

His voice was heard thro' muir and dale, 
He kennM the Lord's sheep, ilka tail, 

O'er a' the height. 
And saw gin they were sick or hale, 

At the first sight 

He fine a mangy sheep could scrub 

Or nobly fling the gospel club, 

And new-light herds could nicely drub 

Or pay their skin, 
Coul 1 shake them o'er the burning dub, 

Or heave them in. 

Sic twa! — O do I live to see't! 
Sic famous twa should disagreet, 
An names, like villain, hypocrite, 
Ilk ither gien, 



BURNS'S rOKMS. 3ll> 

While new-light herds, wi' laughin spite, 
Say neither's lyiu'! 

A' ye wha tent the gospel fauld. 

There's D n deep, and P e shaul, 

But chiefly thou, apostle A — d, 

We trust in thee, 
That thou wilt work them, hot and cauld. 

Till they agree. 

Consider, sirs, how we're beset. 
There's scarce a new herd that we get, 
But comes frae 'mang that cursed set, 

I winna name ; 
[ hope frae heav'n to see them yet 

In fiery flame. 

D e has been lang our fae, 

M II has wrought us meikle wae. 

And that curs'd rascal ca'd M e. 

And baith the S s, 

That aft hae made us bVick and blae, 

Wi' vengefu' paws. 

Auld W w lang has hatch'd mischief^ 

We thought ay death wad bring relief, « 
But he has gotten, to our grief, 

Ane to succeed him ; 
A chie' wha'll soundly buff" our beef, 

I meikle dread him. 

And monie a ane that I could tell, 
Wha fain woild openly rebel, 
Forbye turn-cjats amang oursel' ; 
There S — h for ane 



mo BURNS^a POKMS 

i doubt he's but a gray nick quill» 
An' that ye'll tin'. 

O ! a' ye fioclts, o'er a' the hills, 

By mosses, meadows, moors, and fella, 

Come join your counsels and your skilli 

To cowe the lairds, 
And get the brutes the pow'r themseli 

To choose their herds. 

Then Orthodoxy yet may prance. 
And Learning in a woody dance. 
And that fell cur, ca'd Common Sense, 

That bites sae sair. 
Be banish'd o'er the sea to France; 

Let him bark there. 

Then Shaw's and D'rymple's eloquence, 

M' ll's close nervous excellence, 

M' — ^'s pathetic, manly sense, 

And guid M' h, 

Wi' S-th, wha thrc* the heart can gl&nc^ 

May e pack a£ 



BDRNS'S POEM1 $11 



THE CALP. 

t« THK RET. MR. , ON HIS TEXT, MA LAC HI, CH 

IV. V. 2 — "and they shall go forth, and GSIGW 

UP, LIKE CALVES OF THE STALL." 

Right, sir ! your text I'll prove it true, 

Tho' heretics may laug-h ; 
For instance, there's yoursel' just now, 

God knows, an unco calf! 

And should some patron be so" kind, 

As bless you wi' a kirk, 
1 doubt na, sir, but then we'll find 

Ve're still as great a stirk ! 

But, if the lovc-'s raptur'd hour 

Should ever be your lot. 
Forbid it, ev'ry heav'nly Power, 

You e'er should be a stot ! 

Tho' when some kind, connubial deai. 

Vour but-and-ben adorns. 
The like has been, that you may weai 

A noble head of horns ! 

And in your lug, most rev'rend James, 

To hear you roar and rowte. 
Few men o' sense will doubt your claim* 

To rank amang the nowte. 



S122 BURNS'S POEMS. 

And when ye're number'd wi' the dead. 

Below a grassy hillock, 
Wi' justice they may mark your head — 

" Here lies a famous Bullock ' " 



HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER. 

THOU, wha in the heavens dost dwell. 
Whii, as it pleases best thysel'. 

Sends ane to heaven and ten to hell, 

A' for thy glory, 
And no fur ony guid or ill 

They've done afore tlioe! 

1 bless and praise thy matchless might, 
When thousands thou hast left in night. 
That I am here afore tliy sight. 

For gifts an' grace, 
A burnin' an' a shinin' light. 
To a' this place. 

What was I, or my generation. 
That I should get such exaltation ? 
I, wha deserve sic just damnation. 

For broken laws, 
Five thousand years 'fore my creaticn 

Thro' Adam's cause. 

When frae my mither's womb I fell, 
Thou might hae plung'd me into hell. 



BL'RNS's POF.MS. 323 

To gnash my gums, to weep and wail, 

In burnin' lake, 
Whare danmed devils roar and yell, 

Chain'd to a siaik. 

Ve*. I am here, a chosen sample, 

To show thy grace is great an' ampie 

I'm here a pillar in thy temple. 

Strong as a rock, 
A guide, a buckler, an' example 

To a' thy flock. 

O Lord, thou kens what zeal I bear. 
When drinkers drink, and swearers swear, 
And singin' here, and dancin' there^ 

VVi' great an' sma' : 
For I am keepit by thy tear. 

Free frae them a'. 

Rut yet, O Lord ! confess I must, 
At times I'm fash'd wi' fleshly lust ; 
An' sometimes, too, wi' warldly trust 

Vile self gets in ! 
But thou remembers we are dust, 

Defil'd in sin. 



Besides I farther maun allow, 

Wi' Lizzie's lass, three times I trow ; 

But, Lord, that Friday I was fou. 

When I came near her, 
Oi else, thou kens, thy servant true 

Wad ne'er hae stecr'd her. 



924 auRNs's poems. 

Maybe thou lets this fleshly thorn 

Beset thy servant e'en and morn, 

Lest he owre high and proud should turn, 

'Cause he's «ae gilled : 
If sae, thy han' maun e'en be borne, 

Until thou lift it. 

Lord, bless thy chosen m this place, 
For here thou hast a cliosen race ; 
But God confound their stubborn face, 

And blast their name, 
Wha bring thy elders to disgrace, 

An' public shame. 

Lord, mind G— n H n's deserts, 

He drinks, an' swears, an' plays at carta. 
Yet has sae monie takin' arts, 

Wi' grit an' sma', 
Frae God's ain priest the people's liearti 

He steals awa'. 

An' whan he chasten'd him therefor, 
Thou kens how he bred sic a splore 
An' set the warld in a roar 

O' laughin' at us ; 
Curse thou his basket and his store. 

Kail an' potatoes. 

Lord, hear my earnest cry an' pruy'r, 

Against that presbyt'ry o' Ayr; 

Thy strong right hand, Lord, make it b. a^ 

Upo' tlieir heads ! 
Lord, weigh it down, an' dinna spare. 

For their misdeeds. 



BURNS'S POEMS. 



395 



O Lord, my God, that glib-tongu d A n. 

My very lieart an' saul are quakin\ 

To think how we stood swoatin', shakin', 

An' d d wi' dread, 

While he, wi binding lipa and snakin*, 

Held up his head. 

Lord, in the day of vengeance try him, 
Lord, visit thcni wlia did employ him, 
An' pass not in thy mercy by 'em, 
Nor hear their pray'r ; 
But for thy people's sake, destroy '(m, 
And dinna spare. 

But, Lord, remember me and mine 
Wi' mercies temp'ral and divine. 
That 1 for gear and grace may shinej 

Excell'd by nane; 
An' a' the glory shall be thine. 

Amen, Amen. 



EPITAPH ON HOLY WILUE, 

Here Holy Willie's sair-worn. clay 
Takes up its last abode; 

His saul has taen some other way, 
I fear the left-hand road. 

Htop! there he is as sure's a gun, 
Poor silly body, see him ; 
2§ • 



33(i BORNS'S POEM^. 

Nae wonder he's as black's the gruQ, 
Observe wlia's standing wi' hiiu. 

your brnnstane devilship, 1 see, 
Has got him tliere before ye ; 

But hand your nine-tail cat a-wee, 
Till ance you've heard my story 

Your pity I will not implore. 

For pity ye hae nane ; 
Justice, alas ! has gM^n him o'er. 

And mercy's day .s gacn. 

But hear me, Sir Dcil as ye are, 
Look something to your credit , 

A coof like him wad stain your name, 
If it were kent ye did it 



THE KIRK'S ALARxM.* 

A SATIRE. 

Okthodox, orthodox, wha believe in John Knojc, 
Let me sound an alarm to your conscience ; 

There's a heretic blast has been blawn in the wast 
That what is no sense must be nonsense. 



• TluB poem was written a short lime r fter the publication of Dl 
M'U ill's Essay. 



BURNS'S POEMS. S27 

Dr Mac,* Dr. Mac, yon should stretch on rack, 

To strike evil-doers wi' terror. 
To join faith and sense up(tn onie pretenco. 

Is heretic, danniable error. 

Town of Ayr, Town of Ayr, it was rnad, I declare, 

To meddle wi' mischief a-brewing ; 
I'rovost John is still deaf to the church's relief, 

Anil orator Bobf is its ruin. 

D'rymple mild, | D'rymple mild, tho' your heart's liki 
a child. 

And your life like the new-driv'n snaw, 
Vet that winna save ye, auld Sntan must hae ye, 

Fo" preaching that three's ane and twa. 

Rumble John, § Rumble John, count the steps wi' a 
irroan, 

Cry the book is wi' heresy cramm'd ; 
Then lug out your ladle, deal brimstone like adle 

An<l roar every note of the daum'd. 

Simper James, [j Simper James, leave the fair Killie 
dames, 

There's a holier chase in your view ; 
f'll lay on your head, that the pack ye'll soon ead, 

For pu]»pies like you tliere's but few 

Binget Sawney,1I Singet Sawney, are ye herdii;g Lh« 
penny, 
Unconscious what evils await ? 



* Dr. M'Gil'. t R 1 A— k— r 

J Mr. D— m— le. § Mr. R-s»-U. 
a Mr. M'K—v. H Mr. M -▼ 



528 BURNS'S POEMS. 

Wi a jump, yell, and howl, alarm every toul. 
For the foul tliief is just at your gate. 

Daddy Auld,* Daddy Auld, there's a tod in tlu! fatld, 

A tod nieikle waur than the Clerk; 
r »o' ye can dc little skaith, ye'll be in at the deaJli 

Am' if ye canna bite, ye may bark 

Davie Bluster, | Davie Bluster, if for a saint ye do 
muster, 

The corps is no nice of recruits ; 
Vet to worth let's be just, royal blood ye might boast. 

If the ass was the king of the brutes. 

Jamy Goose, J Jamy Goose, ye hae made but toom 
roost. 

In hunting the wicked lieutenant; 
But the Doctor's your mark, for the. Lord's haly ark, 

He has cooper'd, and caw'd a wrang pin in't. 

Poet Willie, § Poet Willie, gie the Doctor a volley 
Wi' your liberty's chain, and your wit; 

O'er Pegasus's side ye ne'er laid astride. 

Ye but smelt, man, the place where he sh-t 

Andro Gouk, |j Andro Gouk, ye may slander the oook, 
And the book not the waur, let me tell ye ! 

Ve are rich, and look big, but lay by hat and wig, 
And ye'll hae a calf's head o' sma? value. 



? i^T. A— d. t Mr. G t, of O— 1— e. 

i lir. V-^, of C-n~k. f Mr. P -b-^, of Ayr. 

Dr. A. ftl- U. 



BDRNS'S POEMS. 32l 

Barr Steenie, * Barr Steenie, what mean ye whal 
mean ye ? 

It' yo'il meddle nae mair wi' the matter, 
Ye may hae some pretence to havins and sense, 

Wi' people wha ken ye nae better, 

Irvine Sido.f Irvine Side, wi' your turkey-cock pride, 

Of manhood but sma' is your share ; 
Ve've the figure, 'tis true, ev'n your faes will allow, 

And your friends they dare grant ye nae mair. 

Muirland Jock, \ Muirland Jock, when the Lord makes 
a rock 

To crush Common Sense for her sins ; 
If ill manners were wit, there's no mortal so fit 

To confound the poor Doctor at ance. 

Holy Will, § Holy Will, there was wit i' your skuj, 
When ye pilfer'd the alms o' the poor ; 

The tiinmer is scant, when ye're taen for a saint, 
Wha should swing in a rape for an hour. 

Calvin's sons, Calvin's sons, seize your sp'ritual ^una, 

Ammunition you never can need ; 
Your hearts are the stufi^ will be powther enough. 

And your skulls are store-houses o' lead. 

Hoot Burns, Poet Burns, wi' your priest-skelping turnip 
Why desert ye your auld native shire : 

Yonr Muse is a gipsie, e'en tho' she were tipsie, 
She could ca' us nae waur than we are. 



• S a Y— g, ol B— r. t Mr, S h, of G- i 

J Mr S d. § All R'der in M— e 

98* 



JTW BURNS'S POEMS. 



iETTER TO JOHN GOUDIE, KILMARNOCK, 

ON THE PUBLICATION OF HIS ESSAYS. 



Dread o' black coats and rev'rend wiga, 
Soor Bigotry, on her last legs, 

Girnin looks back, 
Wishing the ten Egyptian plagues 

Wad seize you quick. 

Poor gapin', glowrin' Superstition, 

Waes me! she's in a sad condition: 

Fly, bring Black Jock, her state physician, 

To see her water ; 
Alas ! there's ground o' great suspicion 

She'll ne'er get better. 

Auld Orthodoxy lang did grapple. 
But now she's got an unco ripi)le ; 
Haste! gie her name up i' the chapel, 

Nigh uiTlo death ; 
See how she fetches at the thrapple, 

An' gasps for breath ! 

Enthusiasm's past redemption, 

Gaen in a galloping consumption , 

Not a' the quacks, wi' a' their gumption, 

Will ever mend her ; 
Hei feeble pulsf? gies strong presumption 

Death floon will end her. 



BURNS'S POEMS. 331 

*Tis yoi ind Taylor* are the chief 
Wha are to blame for this mischief; 
Bat gin the Lord's ain focks gat leave, 

A toom tar barrel 
Ad' twa red peats wad send relief, 

An' end the quarrel. 



K DKDICATION TO GAVIN HAMILTOiN, ESQ 

Expect na, sir, in this narration, 
A fleeching, fleeth'rin' dedication, 
To ronse you up, an' ca' you guid. 
An' sprung o' great an' noble bluid, 
Because ye're surnain'd like His Grace, 
Perhaps related to the race ; 
Then, when I'm tir'd — and sae are ye, 
Wi' monie a fulsome, sinfu' lie, 
Set up a face, how I stop short, 
For fear your modesty be hurt 

This may do — maun do, sir, wi' them wna 
Maun please the great folk for a wamefou ; 
For me, sae laigh I needna bow. 
For, Lord be thankit ! I can plough ; . 
And when I downa yoke a naig, 
Then, Lord be thankit! I can beg; 
Sae I shall say, an' that's nae flatt'rin*, 
It's just sic Poet, an' sic Patron 



Dr. Taylor, of No'~wicb 



832 BURNS'S POEM!*. 

The Poet, some guid an^l help him 
Or else, I fear some ill ane skelp him, 
He may do weei for a' he's done yet, 
But only he's no just begun yet. 

The Patron, (Sir, ye maun forgie me, 
1 winna lie, come what will o' me,) 
Oil ev'ry hand it will allow'd be, 
He's just — nae better than . le should be. 



I readily and freely grant, 
He downa see a poor man want; 
What's no his ain he winna tak it. 
What ance he says he winna break it ; 
Aught he can lend he'll no refus't, 
Till ail his goodness is abusM: 
And rascals whyles that do him wrang, 
Ev'n that, he does not mind it lang: 
As master, landlord, husband, father, 
He does nae fail his part in eitiier. 

But then, nae thanks to him for a' Uiat, 
Nae godly symptom ye can ca' that ; 
It's naething but a milder feature 
Of our poor sinfu' corrupt nature : 
Ye'll get the best o* moral works, 
'Mang black Gentoos and pagan Turks, 
Or hunters wild on Ponotaxi, 
Wha never heard of orthodoxy. 
That he's the poor man's friend in need, 
The gentleman in word and deed, 
t's nae thro' terror o' damnation 
It's j\ist a carnal inclination. 



BURNS'S POEMS. 33S 

Morality ! thou deadly bane, 
Thy tens o' thousands thou hasl slain 
Vain is his hope, whose stay and trust i§ 
In moral mercy," truth, and justice ! 

No — stretch a point to csxh a plack; 
Abuse' a brother to his back , 
Steal thro' a winnock^ frae a wh-re. 
But point to the rake that takes the door ; 
Be to the poor like onie wlmnstane. 
And baud their noses to the grunstane; 
Ply ev'ry art o' legal thieving: 
No matter, stick to sound believing. 

Learn three-mile prayers, and half-iii\le grr c« 
Wi' weel-spread looves, an' lang wry faces 
Grunt up a solemn, lengthen'd groan, 
And damn a' parties but your own: 
I'll warrant, then, ye're nae deceiver, 
A steady, sturdy, staunch believer. 

O ye wha leave the springs of C-lv-n, 
For gumlie duds of your ain delvin ! 
Ve sons of heresy and error, 
Ve'll some day squeel in quakin terror . 
When Vengeance draws the sword in wrath, 
And in the fire throws the sheath ; 
When Ruin, with his sweeping besom. 
Just frets till heav'n commission gieg- hira 
While o'er the harp pale mis'ry moaus, 
And strikes the ever-deep'ning tones, 
Still louder shrieks, and heavier groans ! 

Your pardon. Sir, for this digression* 
I maist forgot my Dedication ' 



834 OURiVs's POE.Mfl. 

Bu", when Divinity comes cross me, 
My readers still are sure to lose me. 

So, Sir, ye see 'twas nae daft vapor 
But 1 maturely thought it proper, 
When a' my works I did review, 
To dedicate them, Sir, to you ; 
Bocause (ye need i\a tak it ill) 
I thought them something like yourael'. 

Then patron'ze them wi' your favor, 
And your petitioner shall ever — 
I had amaist Pf.id, ever pray, 
But that's a word I need na say ; 
For prayin I hae little skill o't: 
I'm baith dcad-sweer, an' wretched ill c*t 
But ise repeat oa<!h poor man's pray'r, 
That kens or her\rs about you, Sir : — 

"May ne'er misf*. rtunc's growling bark^, 
Howl thro' the dwcl)inc o' the Clerk' 
May ne'er his gen'rous, honest heart, 
For that same gen'rous soi>-it smart! 

May K 's far honor'd name, 

Lang beet his hymeneal flame. 

Till H s, at least a dizen, / 

Are frae their nuptial labors risen; 
Five bonie lasses round their jabJ*-., 
And seven braw fellows, stout an' able 
To serve their king and country wee*. 
By word, oi pen, or pointed steel ! 
May health and peace, with mutual raja. 
Shine on the evening o' his days , 
Till his wee curlie John's ic-oe 



BORNS'S FOEMS 3J« 

When ebbing life nae mair shall rfow, 
The last, sad mournful rites bestow ! " 

1 will not wind a lang conclusion, 
Wi' complimentary effusion ; 
Hut whilst your wishes and endeavors 
Are blest wi' fortune's smiles and favow 
I am, dear Sir, with zeal most ferveat, 
Vour much indebted, humble servant. 

But if (which powers above prevent' ! 
That iron-hearted carl, Want, 
Attended in his grim advances, 
By sad mistakes and black mischances, 
While hopes, and joys, and pleasures fly him 
Make you as poor a dog as I am, 
Your humble servant then no more ; 
For who would humbly serve the poor ? 
But, by a poor man's hopes in Heav'n! 
While recollection's pow'r is given, 
If, in the vale of humble life. 
The victim sad of Fortune's strife, 
1, thro' the tender gushing tear, 
Should recognize my master dear, 
If friendless, low. we meet togettcr, 
I'hen, Sir, your hand — ray Ihend and brother 



t3€ HCRcrs s roB«». 



LINES 

ADDRESSED TO MR. JOHI« lUkKKBSt 

Ae day, aa death, that grousome carl, 
Wa? drivin' to the tither warV 
A mixtie-maxtie motley squad, 
And monie a g-uilt-bespotted lad ; 
Black gowns of each denomination, 
And thieves of every rank and station, 
From him that wears the star and garter 
To him- that wintles in a halter ; 
Asham'd himself to see the wretches, 

He mutters, glow'ring at the b ei, 

" Ay G — , ril not be seen behint tJiem, 
Nor 'mang the spiritual corps present theis, 
Without, at least, ae honest man. 
To grace this damn'd infernal clan." 
By Adamhill a glance he threw, 
" L — d G — d ! " quoth he, " I have it iow ) 
There's just the man I want, in faith : 
And quickly stopped Ranken's breath. 



BCRNS S POEMS. OoT 



LINES 

WRITTEI? BY «TIRNS, WHILE ON HIS DEATH-BED, TC 

THE SARIE. 

He who i. f Ranken sang, lies stiff and dead. 
And a groen grassy hillock hides his head j 
Mas ! alas ! a devilish change indeed ! 



EXTEMPORE. 

[At a meeting of the Dumfriesshire Vohmteers, held to commemo- 
rate the anniversary of Rodney's victory, April I2th, 1782, Burns wm 
called upon lor a song, instead of which he delivered the foUowmg linc« 
extempore.] 

Instead of a song, boys, I'll give you a toast, — 
Here's the memory of those on the twelfth that we lost, 
That we lost, did I say? nay, by Heaven! that we 

found, 
For their fame it shall last while the world goet 

round. 
The next in succession, I'll give you the king. 
Whoe'er would betray him, on high may he swing : 
And here's the grand fabric, our free constitution, 
As built on the base of the great revolution ; 
And, longer with politics not to be cramm'd, 
Be anarchy curs'd, and be tyranny damn'd; 
And who would to liberty e'er prove disloyal, 
May his son be a hangman, and he the first tnaL 
29 



3!38 cuRNs's po£Ha 



EXTEMPORE, 

OW THE LATE MR. WILLIAM SMELLIB 

To Crochallan came * 
The old cock'd hat, the gray surtout, the same 
His bristling beard just rising in its might, 
'Twus four long nights and days to shaving-night j 
His uncomb'd grizzly locks, wild staring, thatch'd 
A head for thought profound and clear, unmatch'd 
Yet, the' his caustic wit was biting, rude, 
His heart was warm, benevolent, and good. 



TO MR S**E, 

on REFDSIJNG TO DINE WITH HIM, AFTER HAVING BEEP 
PROMISED THE FIRST O*" COMPANY, AND THE FIR81 
CGOXERT. . 

N ) more of your guests, be they titled or not, 

And cook'ry the first in the nation; 
Who is proof to thy pprsoiial converse and wit, 

Is proof to all other te.'xipL^tion. 
Dtcejnber, 17, 1795. 



• Mr. Sraellie and Burns were both inwnb«'f af a olufr in EcHnbujf h 
tailed the Crochallaii P^encibies. 



BURNS^S POEMS. 3!9 



TO MR. S**E, 

WITH A PRESENT OF A DOZEN OF EORTBB. 

O HAD the malt thy strength of mind, 
Or hops the flavor of thy wit, 

'Twere drink for first of human kind, 
A gift that e'en for S**e were fit 
Jerusalem Taverrij DumfHe3. 



EXTEMPORE, 

ITRITTEN m ANSWER TO A CARD FROM AN INTIMATI 
OF BURNS'S, INVITING HIM TO SPEND AN HOUR At 
A TAVERN. 

The king's most humble servant 
Can scarcely spare a minute; 

But I'll be wi' ye, by-an'-by, 
Or eUe the Deil'a be in it 



MO BCRAS'S POEMS. 



EXTEMPORE, 

WRITTEN IN A LADT's POCKET-BOOK. 

Grant me, indulgent Heav'n! that I may liva 
To see the miscreants feel the pains they ^ve, 
Deal Freedom's sacred treasures free as air, 
Till slave and despot be but things which were. 



LINES 

ON MISS J. SCOTT, OF AYR. 

Oh ! had each Scot of ancient timee, 
Been Jeany Scott, as thou art, 

The bravest heart on Englisn ground. 
Had yielded like a coward. 



LINES 



frilTTEN UNDER THE PICTURE OF THE CELEBRATKI 
MISS BURNS. 

Cease, ye prudes, your envious lailing. 
Lovely Burns has charms — confess ' 

True it is, she had one failing; 
Had a woman ever less? 



BURNS S POEMS 34l 



LINES, 

tW BKIKO ASKED WHY GOD HAD MADE MISS LA VIS SO 

WTTLE, AND MISS SO LARGE; — WRITTEN 0« 

A PANE OF GLASS, IN THE INN AT MOFFAT. 

Ask why God made the gem so small, 

And wh) so huge the g^ranite ! 
Because God meant mankind should set 

The hiofher value on it 



LINES 



■raiTTEN AND PRESENTED TO MRS. KEMBLE, ON BEB 
INO HER IN THE CHARACTER OF YARICO 

K EM RLE, thou cur'st my unbelief 

Of Moscs and his rod ; 
At Yarico's sweet notes of grief, 
The rock with tears had flow'd* 
DwnMes Theatre, 1794. 
29* 



343 BURNS^S P0KM8. 



LINES 

AITTEN ON WINDOWS OF THE GLOBE nrKRW, 
DUMFRIES. 

The graybeard, old Wisdom, may boast ol' his trea» 
iires, 

Give me with gay Folly to live ; 
I grant him his calm-blooded, time-settled pleaaurea. 

But Folly has raptures to give. 



1 



I MURDER hate by field or flood, 
Tho' glory's name may screen »j«); 

In wars at hame I'll spend my bl"«d 
Life-giving war of Venus. 

The deities that I adore. 

Are social Peace and Plenty: 

Pm better pleas'd to make one more 
Than be the death of twenty. 



My bottle is my holy pooj, 

That neals the wounds o' care and doAs 

And pleasure is a wanton trout, 

An' ye drink it, ye^ll find him oat. 



BDRNS'S POEMS. 



Iw politico? if thou would'st mix. 

And mean thy fortunes be ; 
Bear this in mind — be deaf and blind - 

Let sreat folks hear and see. 



LINES 



ITRITTEK ON 1 WINDOW, AT THE KINo's-ARMS TAVERBI 
DUMFRIES. 

Ve mon of wit and wealth, wi' a' this sneering 
'Gainst poor- Excisemen, give the cause a hearing : 
What are your landlord's rent-rolls ? taxijig legers : 
VVliat premiers, what? even Monarch's mighty gaugera 
Nay, what are priests? those seeming j,'odIy vvise men 
What arc they, pray ? but spiritual Excisemen. 



A VERSE, 

}>.ry/.- rEO fiY THE AUTHOR, TO THE MASTER OF k 
li-'V C. h.r A PLACE IN THE HIGHLANDS, WHEHF (11 
)!'• «KEN HOSPITABLY ENTERTAINED. 

vVhen Death's dark stream I ferry o'<.'r — 

A time that surely shall come; 
In Heaven itself, I'll ask no more, 

Than iust a Hijjhland welcome 



H4 BURNs'^s po£mt: 



EPIGRAM. 

[Burns accompanico oy a friend, having: gone to Inverary at a lima 
when sone company were there on a visit to the Duke of Argyll, finding 
aimself and his companion entirely neglected by ilie innkeeper, whos« 
whole attention seemed to be occupied with the visiters of his Grace, 
expressed his disapprobation of the incivility with which they wera 
treated, hi the following lines.] 

Whoe'er he be that sojourns here, 

I pity much his case, 
Unless he comes to wait upon 

The Lord their God his Grace. 
There's naething here but Highland pride, 

And Highland scab and hunger ; 
If Providence has sent me here, 

*Twas surely in an anger. 



EPIGRAM 



•N elfhinstone's translation of Martial's epi 

GRAMS. 

O THOU whom Poetry abhors, 
Whom Prose has turned out of doors, 
Heard'st thou that groan? — proceed no further, 
Tiras laurell'd Martial roaring, Murder 



BUKN8*8 POEMS. 34ti 



VERSES 

'RITTEI» ON A WINDOW OF THE INIT \T CARftOB 

We cam na here to view your \iiarka, 

In hopes to be mair wise, 
But only lest we gang to hell, 

It may be nae surprise : 

But when we tirled at your door, 
Your porter dought na hear us ; 

Sac may, should we to hell's yetts come, 
Your billy Satan sair us ! 



EPITAPH 

ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER. 

Here souter **** iu death does slee^ 
To h-11, if he's gane thither, 

Satan, gie him thy gear to keep! 
He'll baud it weel thegrither. 



%46 BCRNS^fl POEMS. 



ON A NOISY POLEMIC. 

Below thir stanes lie Jamie's bane* - 

O Death ! it's my opinion, 
Thou ne'er took such a bleth'rin' b-tc« 

Into thy dark dominion! 



ON WEE JOHNNY 

Hie jacel wee Jolinnie 

Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know 
That Death has murder'd Johnny ! 

An' here his body hes fu' low — 
For sauI, he ne'er had ony 



FOR G. H., ESQ. 

The poor man weeps — here G n sleeps, 

Whom canting wretches blam'd : 

But with such as he, where'er he be, 
Ma\ 1 be sav'd or damn d ! 



■URNS S POEMS. W7 



. ON A WAG IN MAUCHLINE. 

LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands a, 

He aflen did assist ye: 
For had ye staid whole weeks awa*, 

Your wives, they ne'er had miss'd ye. 

Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye pass 
To school in bands thegither, 

O tread ye lightly on the grass, — 
Perhaps he was your father' 



uiN JOHN DOVE, 

INN-KEEPER, MAUCHLINE. 

Here lies Johnny Pidgeon; 

What was his religion, 

Whae'er desires to ken, 

To some other warl' 

Maun follow the carl, 

For here Johnny Pidgeon had 

Strong ale was ablution. 
Small beer persecution, 
A dram was memento mon , 
But a full flowing bowl 
Was the saving his soul. 
And Port was celestial glory. 



BUKNS'S POEMS. 



ON WALTER S . 

Sic a reptile was Wat, 

Sic a miscreant slave, 
That^e worms even d— — — d him. 

When .aid in his grave. 

"In his flesh there's a famine," 

A starv'd reptile cries ; 
"And his heart is rank poison," 

Another replies. 



ON A HENPECKED COUNTRY SQCIRB 

As father Adam first was fool'd, 
A case that's still too common, 

Here lies a man a woman rui'd — 
The Devil rul'd the woman' 



EPIGRAM ON SAID OCCASION. 

O Death! hadst thou but spar'd his life, 
Whom we this day lament! 
We freely Avad exchang-'d the wife, 
And a' been weel content 



BUKNS'S POKMS. ^.» 

Ev'n as he is, cauld in his gr(«ff, 

The swap we yet will do't; 
Tak thou the Carlin^s carcass aff, — 

Thou'se get the saul o' boot! 



ANOTHER. 



One Queen Artemisa, as old stories tell, 

When depriv'd of her husband she loved so well, 

In respect for the love and affection heM show'4 

her, 
She reduc'd him to dust, and she drank up the pow 

der. 

But Queen N*******, of a diff'rent complexion, 
When call'd on to order the fun'ral direction, 
Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender pre 

tence, — 
Not to show her respect, but — to save the ex 

pense! 



ON THE DEATH OF A LAP-DOG NAMEE ECHO 

In wood and wild, ye warbling tlirong, 

Your heavy loss deplore; 
Now half extinct your pow'rs of song, 

Sweet Echo is nG more ' 
30 



350 BURrrs s poems. 

Ye jarring screeching things around, 
Scream your discordant joys, 

Now half your din of tuneless sound 
With Echo silent lies. 



IMPROMPTU ON MRS. 'S BIRTHrAY 

4th NOVEMBER, 1793. 

Old Winter, with his frosty beard. 
Thus once to Jove his prayer preferr'd 
What have I done, of all the year. 
To bear this hated doom severe ? 
My cheerless sons no pleasure know ; 
Night's horrid car drags dreary, slow, 
My dismal months no joys are crowning, 
But spleeny English, hanging, drowning. 

Now, Jove, for once, be mighty civil ; 
To counterbalance all this evil. 
Give me and Pve no more to say, 
Give me Maria's natal day! 
That brilliant gift will so enrich me, 
Spring, Summer, Autumn, cannot match nie 
'TIS done, says Jove; — so ends my story 
A.nd Winter once rejoic'd in glory 



BU&i«8 S P^SMS. 



MONODY, 

out A LADT FAMED FOR HER CAPRICE. 

How cold is that bosom which folly once fir'd 
How pale is that cheek where the rouge atclj 
glisten'd ! 

How silent that tongue which the echoes oft tir'd ! 
How dull is that ear which to flatt'ry so listcn'd! 

If sorrow and anguish their exit await, 

From friendship and dearest affection reraov'd; 

How doubly severer, Eliza, thy fate, 
Thou diest unwept, as thou lived'st unlov'd. 

Loves, Graces, and Virtues, I call not on you ; 

So shy, grave, and distant, ye shed not a tear. 
But come, all ye offspring of Folly so true, 

And flow'rs let us cull for Eliza's cold bier. 

We'll search thro' the garden for each silly flower, 
We'll roam thro' the forest for each idle weed ; 

But chiefly the nettle, so typical, shower, 
For none e'er approach'd her but ru'd the rash deed 

We*.. Bs.ulpture the marble, we'll measure the lay, 
Here Vanity strums on her idiot lyre; 

There keen Indignation shall dart on her prey, 
Which spurning Contempt shall redeem from his ire 



BUR.NS'S POKMS. 



THE EPITAPH. 

Hers lies, now a prey to insulting neglect, 
What once was a butterfly, gay in life's beting 

Want only of wisdom denied her respect. 
Want only of goodness denied her esteem. 



ODE, 

lACKED TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. 

Dweller in yon dungeon dark, 
Hangman of creation ! mark 
Who in widow- weeds appears, 
Laden with unhonor'd years. 
Noosing with care a bursting purse. 
Baited with many a deadly curse! 



STROPHE. 

View the wither'd beldam's face; 

Can thy keen inspection trace 

Aught of humanity's sweet, melting grace i 

Note that eye, 'tis rheum o'er flows, 

Pity's flood there never rose. 



BITRKS'S POEMS. [\S3 

See those hands, ne'er stretch'd to save, 
Hands that took — but never gave. 
Keeper of Mammon's iron chest, 
liO ! tliere she goes, unpitied and unblest ! 
She goes, but not to realms of everlasting reft 



ANTISTROPHE. 

Plund'rer of armies, lift thine eyes, 

(Awhile forbear, ye tott'ring fiends !) 

Seest thou whose step unwilling hither bendi ' 

No fallen angel, hurl'd from upper skies ; 

'Tis thy trusty quondam mate, 

Doom'd to share thy fiery fate, 

She, tardy, hellward plies. 



EPODE. 



And are they of no more avail. 
Ten thousand glitt'ring pounds a year? 
In other worlds can Mammon fail, 
Omnipotent as he is here.' 
O, bitter mock'ry of the pompous bier, 
While down the wretched vital part is drivni 
The cave-lodg'd beggar, with a conscience cleiuri 
Grpires in rags, unknown, and go<^ to hear'n 
30* 



154 BURNS'S PC EMS. 



THE HEN-PECKED HUSBAND 

Cdrs'd be the man, the poorest wretch in flfe, 
Tlie crouching vassal to the tyrant wife, 
Who has no will but by her high permission, 
Who has not sixpence but in her possession ; 
Who must to her his dear friend's secret tell, 
Who (Ireq-ds a curtain lecture worse than hell. 
Were such the wife had fallen to my part, 
I'd break her spirit, or I'd break her heart*; 
I'd charm her with the magic of a switch, 
I'd kiss her maids, and kick the perverse b — b 



ELEGY ON THE YEAR 1788 

For /brds or kings I dinna mourn, 
Jl'en let them die — for that they're bom , 
But, oh ! prodigious to reflect, 
A Towmont, sirs, is gane to wreck! 
O Eighty-eight! in thy sma' spsce 
What dire events hae taken place! 
Of what enjoyment thou hast reft us ! 
In what a pickle thou hast left us ! 

The Spanish empire's tint a head, 
An o^y auid teethless Bawtie's dead; 



KURNS S POEMS 355 

The toolzie's teugh 'tween Pitt and Fox, 

An' our guidwife's wee birdy-cocks ; 

The ane is game, a bhiidy devil, 

But to the hen-birds unco civil ; 

The tither's dour, has nae sic breedin', 

But better stuff ne'er claw'd a midden ! 

Ye ministers, come, mount the pulpit' 
An cry till ye be hoarse an' rupit; 
For Eighty-eight, he wish'd you weel, 
An' gied you a' baith gear an meal : 
E'en monie a piack, an monie a peck. 
Ye ken yoursels, for little feck ! 

Ye bonie lasses, dight your een, 
For some o' you hae tint a frien' ; 
" In Eighty-eight, yo ken, was taen 
What ye'U ne'er hae to gie again! 

Observe the very nowt an' sheep. 
How dowff an' dowie now they creep ; 
Nay, ev'n the yirth itsel' does cry, 
For Embro' wells are grutten dry. 

O Eighty-nine ! thou's but a bairn. 
An' no owre auld, I hope, to learn! 
Thou beardless boy, I pray tak care. 
Thou now has got thy daddy's chair, 
Nae hand-cuff 'd, muzzl'd, half-shackl'd regeit, 
But, like himself, a full, free agent: 
Be sure ye follow out the plan 
Nae waur than he did, honest man' 
As muckle better as yo«i can. 
/ariKar^ 1, 1789. 



dSM SillUfS'S POEMS. 



TAM SAMSON'S* ELEGY. 

An honest man's the noblest work of Goti. 

POFI. 

Has auld K seen the Deil? 

Or great M ^f thrawn his heel ? 

Or R 1 again grown weel, 

To preach an' read? 
" Na, waur than a' ! " cries like a chiel, 

Tam Samson's dead! 

K lang may grunt an' grane, 

An' sigh, an' sab, an' greet her lane, 

An' deed her bairns, man, wife, an' wea:i, 

In mourning weed ; 
To death she's dearly paid the ka:ip • 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

The brethren of tiie mystic level, 
May hing their head in wofu' bevel, 
While by the nose the tears will revel, 

Like onie bead ; 
Death's gien the lodge an unco devel: 

Tam Samson's dead! 



• When this worthy old sportsman went out last muir-fowl season, ha 
•v.ppoeed it was to be, in Ossian's phrase, "the last of his fields; " and 
expressed an ardent wish to die and be buried in the muirs. On thij 
hint, the author composed his Elegy and Epitaph. 

1 A certain preacher, a great favorite vdth the rmilion. Vide the Or* 
iination, stanza ii. 

t Another preacher, an equal favorite with the few, who was at thaf 
time ailuig. For him, see also the Ordination, stanza ix. 



BURNS S POEMS. »^57 

WheL Vinter muffles up his clcak 
And binds the mire up like a rock ; 
When to the loughs the curlers flock, 

Wi' gleesome speed, 
Wha wiil they station at the cock ? 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

He was the king o' a* the core, 
To guard, or draw, or wick a bore, 
Or up the rink like Jehu roar. 

In time of need ; 
But now he lags on death's hog-score 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

Now safe the stately sawmont sail, 
And treats bedro})p'd wi' crimson hai!i, 
And eels well konn'd for souple tail, 

And geds for greed. 
Since dark in Death's fish-creel we wail 

Tarn Samson dead ! 

Rejoice, ye birring paitricks a'; 

Ve cootie nmircocks, croiisely craw , 

Ye maukins, cock your fnd fu' braw 

.Withouten dread ; 
Vour mortal fao is now awa' : 

Tam Samson's dead ' 

That wofu' morn be ever mourn'd. 
Saw him in shootin' graith adorn'd, 
While pointers round impatient burn'd, 

Frae couples freed ; 
B'lt, och! he gaed, and ne'er returned i 

Tam Samson's dead J 



Vi^ BURNS S POEMS. 

In vain auld age his body batters; 

In vain the gout his ancles fetters ! 

In vain the burns come down like watert 

An acre braid ! 
Now every auld wife, greetin. clatters, 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 

Owre many a weary hag he limpit, 
An' ay the tither shot he thumpit, 
Till coward Death behind him jumpit, 

Wi' deadly feide ; 
Now he proclaims, wi' tout o' trumpet^ 

Tam Samson's dead ! 

When at his heart he felt the dagger 
He reel'd his wonted bottle-swagger, 
But yet he drew the mortal trigger 
Wi' weel-aim'd deed ; 
' L — d, five ! " he cried, an' owre did stagger 
Tam Samson's dead ! 

Ilk hoary hunter mourn'd a brither ; 
Ilk sportsman youth bemoan'd a fatlier ; 
Yon auld gray stane, amang the heather, 

Marks out his head, 
Whare Burns has wrote, in rhyming blethet 

Tara Samson's dead ! 



There low he lies, in lasting rest ; 
Perhaps upon his mould'ring breast 
Some spitefu' muirfowl bigs her nest 

To hatch an breed 
Alas ! nae mair he'd them molest ! 

Tam Samson's dead' 



BORXS'S POEMS 35? 

When August winds tlie heather wave. 
And sportsmen wander by yon grave, 
Three vollejs let his mem'ry crave 

O' pouther an' lead ; 
Till Echo answer frae her cave, 

Tarn Samson's dead ' 

Heav'n rest -lis sctj., where'er he be! 
Is the wish o' monie mae than me: 
He had twa faults, or may be three, 

Yet what remead ? 
Ae social honest man want we ; 

Tarn Samson's dead ! 



THE EPITAPH. 

Tam SAMso^'s weel-born clay here lie»| 
Ye canting zealots spare him ! 

if honest worth in heaven rise, 
Ye'll menc or ye wod near into. 



360 BURNS'S POEMS 



PER CONTRA. 

Go. Fame, and canter like a filly 

Thro' a' the streets an' neuks o' Killie;* 

Tell ev'ry social, honest billie 

To cease his grievin'. 
For yet, unskaith'd by death's gleg gullie, 

Tarn Samson's livin'. 



ELEGY ON CAPTAIN MATTHEW HENDERSON 

i SENTLEMAN WHO HELD THE PATENT FOR HIS H050I 
IMMEDIATELY FROM ALMIGHTY GUU. 

But now his radiant course is run, 
For Matihew's course was briglii ; 

His soul was like the glorious sun, 
A matchless, heavenly light! 

O Death : thou tyrant fell and bloody ! 
The muckle devil wi' a woodie 
Haurl thee hame to his black siniddie, 

O'er hurcheon hides, 
And like stock-fis.i come o'er his studdie 

Wi' thy auld sides! 

• Kilmarnock. 



BUKNS'S POEMS. 

He's gane, he's gane! he's frae us torn, 

The ae best fellow e'er was born! 

Thee, Matthew, Nature's self shall mouni, 

By wood and wild, 
Where, haply. Pity strays forlorn, 

Frae man exil'd. 

Ye Jiills, near neebors o' the starns, 
That proudly cock your cresting cairns! 
Ye cliffs, the haunts of sailing yearns, 

Where Echo slumbers! 
Come, join, ye Nature's sturdiest bairns 

My wailing numbers! 

Mourn ilka grove the cushat kens ! 
Ye hax'lly shaws and briery dens! 
Ye burnies, wimplin' down your glens, 

Wi' toddlin' din, 
Or foaming Strang, wi' hasty stens, 

Frae lin to lin. 

Moiu-n, little harebells o'er the lee; 
Ye stately foxgloves fair to see; 
Ye woodbines hanging bonilie. 

In scented bow'rs; 
Ye roses on your thorny tree. 

The first o' flow'ra 

At dawn, when ev*ry glassy blade 

Droops with a diamond at his head, 

At ev'n, when beans their fragrance shed 

r the rustling gale, 
Ye maukins whiddin thro' the giade, 

Come, join my waiL 
31 



d61 



562 El'UNS'r POKMS. 

Mourn, ye wee songsters o' tne woo»i i 
Ye grouse that crap the heather buQ , 
Ye curlews calling thro' a clud ; 

Ye whistling plover; 
And mourn, ye whirring paitrick bt^^iii 

He's gane for ever : 

Mourn, sooty coots, and speckled l^-zui, 
Ye fisher herons watching eels ! 
Ye duck and drake, wi' airy wheels, 

Circling the lake ; 
Ye bitterns, till the quagmire reels, 

Rair for his sake ! 

Mourn, clam'ring craiks, at close o' & 
'Mang fields o' flow'ring clover gav ; 
And Mhen ye wing your annual way 

Frae our cauld shore, 
Tell thae fiir warlds, wha lies in cky 

Wham we deplore. 

Ye houlets, frae your ivy bow'r, 

In some auld tree, or eldritch tow «•. 

What time the moon, wi' silent gi .• e*f 

Sets up her horn, 
Wail thro' the dreary midnight hG,,f, 

Till waukrife morn ! 

O rivers, forests, hills, and plains! 
Oft have ye heard my canty strains : 
But now, what else for me remains 

But tales of wo ? 
And frae my een the d rapping rain« 

Maun ever flow. 



BURNS S HOKMS. £ 

Mourn Spring, thou darling of the year, 
Ilk cowslip cup shall kep a tear ; 
Thou, Simmer, while each corny spear 

Shoots up its head, 
Thy gay green, flow'ry tresses shear, 

For him that's dead! 

Thou, Autumn, wi' thy yellow hair, 
In grief tliy sallow mantle tear ! 
Thou, Winter, hurling thro' the air 

The roaring hkst, 
Wide o'er the naked world declare 

The worth we've lost. 

Mourn him, tliou Sun, great source of light 
Mourn, Empress of the silent night! 
And you, ye twinkling starries bright, 

My Matthew mourn ! 
For thro' your orbs he's taen his flight, 

Ne'er to return. 

O Henderson ! the man ! the brother ! 
And art thou gone, and gone for ever ? 
And ha.st thou cross'd that unknown rivei 

Life's dreary bound ? 
Like thee, where shall I find another, 

The warld around .'' 

Go to your sculptur'd tombs, ye great. 
In a' the tinsel trash o' state ! 
But by thy honest turf I'll wait, 

Tiiou man of worth ! 
Anil weep the ae best fellow's fat© 

E'er lay in earth. 



864 BOENS S PCJt3l» 



THE EPITAPH. 

Stop, passenger, my story's brief 
And truth I shall relate, man; 

I tell na common tale o' grief, 
For Matthew was a great man 

If thou uncommon merit hast, 

Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door, rau 

A look of pity hither cast, 

For Matthew was a poor man. 

If thou a nobler sodger art. 

That passest by this grave, man. 

There moulders here a gallant heart, 
For Matthew was a brave man. 

If thou on men, their works and wayp. 

Canst throw uncommon light, man ; 
Here lies wha weel had won thy praisa; 

For Matthew was a bright man. 

If thou at friendship's sacred ca' 
Wad life itself resign, man ; 

Thy sympathetic tear maun fa'. 
For Matthew was a kind man. 

If thou art staunch, without a stain* 
Like the unchanging blue, man! 

This was a kinsman o' thy ain. 
For Matthe\» was a true man. 



BURiNS'S POEMS 365 

If thou hast wit, and fun, ana fire, 
And ne'er guid wine did fear, man; 

This was thy billie, dam, and sire 
For Matthef^ was a queer man. 

If onie whiggish, whingin sot, 
To blame poor Matthew dare, man ; 

May dool and sorrow be his lot, 
For Matthew was a rare man 



ON A SCOTCH BARD, 

GONE TO THE WEST INDIES. 

A* TE wha live by soups o' drink, 
A* ye wha live by crambo-clink, 
A' ye wha live, and never think, 

Come mourn wi' me! 
Our billie*s gien us a' the jink. 

An' owre the sea. 

Lament him, a' ye rantin' core, 
Wha dearly like a random splore, 
Nae mair he'll join the merry roar 

In social key; 
For now he's taen anither shore, 

An' owre the sea. 

The bonie lasses weel may wiss him, 
And in their dear netitions place hiia 
31* 



^G6 BDKiVs's POEMS 

The widows, wives, an' a' may bless him, 

VVi' tearfu' e'e; 
Foi weel I wat they'll sairly miss him 

That's owre the sea. 

O Fortune ! tliey hae room to grumble ! 
Hadst thou taen aff some drowsy bummle, 
Wha can do nought but fyke an' fumble, 

'Twad been nae plea; 
But he was gleg as onie wumblc. 

That's owre the sea. 

Auld, cantie Kyle may weepers wear, 
An' stain them wi' the saut, saut tear; 
'Twill make her poor auld heart, I fear, 

In flinders flee ; 
He was her laureate monie a year, 

Thai's owre the sea. 

He saw misfortune's cauld nor-west 
Lang must'ring up a bitter blast; 
A jiilet brak his heart at last 

111 may she be ! 
So, took a birth afore the mast. 

An' owre the sea. 

To tremble under Fortune's cummock, 
On scarce a belly-fu' o' drummock, 
Wi' his proud, independent stomach, 

Could ill agree ; 
So, row't his hurdies in a hammock, 

An' owre the sea. 

He ne'er was gien to great misguiding 
Vet coin his pouches wan na bide in; 



BURNS'S FOKMS. U67 

Wi* hiin it ne'er was inder hjdinj» 

He dealt it free: 
The Muse was a' that he took pride in, 

That's owre the soa- 

Jamaica bodies, use him weel. 
An' hap him in a cozie biel : 
Ye'll find him ay a dainty chiel, 

An' fou o' glee ; 
He wad na wrang'd the vera Deil, 

That's owre the sea. 

Fareweel, my rhyme-composing billie ' 
Your native soil was right ill-willie, 
But may ye flourish like a lily, 

Now bonilie ! 
I'll toast ye in my hindmost gillie, 

Tho' o'er the sea. 



ON PASTORAL POETRY. 

Hail, Poesie ! thou nymph reserv'd! 

In chase o' thee, what crowds hae 8wenr*d 

Frae common sense, or sunk enerv'd 

'Mang heaps o' clavers; 
And och! o'er aft thy joes hae starv'd, 

'Mid a' thy favors! 

Say, Lassie, why thy train amang. 
While loud the trump's heroic clang 



Slifl BURJVS'S POEMS 

Ana sock or buskin skelp alang 

To death or marriage 

Scarce ane has tried the shepherd-sang 
Bat wi' miscarriage ? 

In Homer's craft Jock Milton thrives, 
Eschylus' pen Will Shakspeare drives; 
Wee Pope, the knurlin till him rives 

Horatian fame: 
In thy sweet sang, Barbauld, survives 

Ev'n Sappho's flame. 

But thee, Theocritus ! wha matches ? 
They're no herd's ballats, Maro's catcho-S". 
Squire Pope but busks his skinlin patchet 

O' heathen tatters : 
I pass by hunders, nameless wretches, 

That ape their betters. 

In this braw age o' wit and !ear. 
Will nane the Shepherd's whistle mair 
Blaw sweetly in its native air, 

And rural grace ; 
And wi' the far-fam'd Grecian, share 

A rival place? 

Yes ! there is ane, a Scottish callan ! 
There's ane; — come forrit, honest AIIqa! 
Thou need na jouk behint the hallan, 

A chiel sae clever; 
The teeth o' Time may gnaw Tamtallan, 

But thou's for ever. 

Thou paints auld Nature to the nines, 
1 ♦Hv sweet Caledonian lines ; 



BURNS'S POEMS. 36& 

Nae gfowden stream thro' myrtles twines, 

Where Philomel, 
While nightly breezes sweep the vines. 

Her griefs will tell! 

In gowany glens thy b.rnie strays, 
Where borne lasses bleach their class • 
Or trots by haz'lly shaws and braes, 

Wi' hawthorns gray, 
Where blackbirds join the shepherd s ays. 

At close o' day. 

Thy rural loves are Nature's sel'; 
Nae bombast spates o' nonsense swell ; 
Nae snap conceits, but that sw(30t spell 

O' witchin' love, 
That charm that can the strongest (juell, 

The sternest move. 



PROLOGUE, 

SPOKE5 AT TMK THEATRE, EI.LISLA VD, ON NEW-TEAI 
DAY EVENING. 

No song nor dance I bring from yon great city 
That aneens it o'er our taste — the more's the pity 
Tin' by the by, abroad why will ycu roam ? 
Good sense and taste are natives here at home. 
But not for panegyric I appear, 
* come to wish you all a good new-year 



370 BURNS'S POEMS. 

01(1 FatlitT Time deputes me here befoie ye, 

Not for to preach, but tell liis simple story : 

The sa<Te, grave Ancient cough'tl, and bade n e oay 

" You're one year older this in:portant day : " 

[f uiscr, too — he hinted some suggestion, 

But 'iwould be rude, you know, to ask the questiou , 

And, witJi a would-be roguish leer and wink, 

lie hade mo on you press this one word — '*/Af«t." 

Yc sprightly youths, quite flush with hope and spirit 
Who think to storm the world by dint of merit. 
To you the Dotard has a deal to say, 
In hi.s sly, dry, sententious, proverb way ! 
He bids you mind, amid your thoughtless rattle, 
That the first blow is ever half the battle : 
That, tho' some by the skirt may try to snatch hi:a 
Yet by tlie forelock is the hold to catch him : 
That, whether doing, suffering, or forbearing, 
You may do miracles by persevering. 

Last, tho' not least, in love, ye youthful fair. 
Angelic forms, high Heav'n's peculiar care! 
To you auld Bald-pate smoothes his wrinkled brow^ 
And humbly begs you'll mind the important —now 
To crown your happiness he asks your leave^ 
And offers, bliss to give and to receive! 

For our sincere, tho' haply weak endeavors, 
With grateful pride we own your many fivoit • 
rtut^ how6o(3'er our tongues may !11 reveal it, 
Btdieve our glowing bosoms f^'v fiw' Jt 



BURNS S P0EM3. 371 



PROLOGUE, 

IP08E^ BY MR WOODS, ON HIS BENEFIT NIGHT. HON 
DAY, APRIL 16, 1787. 

When, by a gen'rous public's kind acclaim, 
That dearest meed is granted — honest fame ; 
When here your favor is the actor's lot 
Nor ev'n the man in private life forgot; 
Whiit breast so dead to heav'nly virtue's glow, 
But heaves impassion'd with the grateful throe? 

Poor is the task to please a barb'rous throng, 
It needs no Siddon's powers in Southron's song , 
For here an ancient nation, fam'd afar 
For genius, learning high, as great in war ! 
Hail, Caledonia ! name for ever dear ! 
Before whose sons Pm honor'd to appear! 
Where ev'ry science, ev'ry nobler art. 
That can inform the mind, or mend the heart, 
Is known ; as grateful nations oft have found, 
Far as the rude barbarian marks the bound. 
Philosophy, no idle pendant dream, 
Here holds her search by heav'n-taught reason's beam 
Here History paints, with elegance and force. 
The tide of Empire's fluctuating course; 
Here Doug, as forms wild Shakspeare into plan. 
And Harley * rouses all the god in man. 



Tlie jVIun oi l-'ccliug, written by Mr M'Keiizie 



B72 BCRNS'S POIEMS. 

When well-forrn'd taste and sparkling vrit unitfl^ 
With manly lore, or female beauty bright, 
(Beauty, where faultless symmetry and grace 
Can only charm us in tne second place,) 
Witness, my heart, how oft with panting fear 
As on this night, I've met these judges here. 
But still the hope Experience taught to live, 
Equal to judge — you're candid to forgive. 
No hundred-headed Riot here we meet, 
With decency and law beneath his feet; 
Nor Insolence assumes fair Freedom's name ; 
Like Caledonians, you applaud or blame. 

O Thou, dread Power ! whose empire-giving han4 
Has oft been stretch'd to shield the honor'd land! 
Strong may she glow with all her ancient fire ; 
May ey'ry son be worthy of his sire ; 
Firm may she rise, with generous disdain. 
At Tyranny's or direr Pleasure's chain ; 
Still self-dependent in her native shore, 
Bold may she brave ffrim Danger's loudest rear, 
Till Fate Uie curtain nruo on worlds to be no intre 



BURPfS's POEMS. STto 



Iff Ot« 4SIONAL ADDRESS, SPOKEN BY MISS FONrENEIiLl 
OZf HER BENEFIT NIGHT. 

While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things 
The fate of empires, and the fall of kings ; 
While quacivh ol state must each produce liis plaiu 
And even children lisp the Rights of Man ; 
Amid this mighty fuss, just let me mention. 
The Rights of Woman merit some attention. 

First, in the sexes' intermix'd connection, 
One sacred right of Woman is protection. 
The tender flower that lifts its head, elate, 
Helpless must fall before the blast of fate, 
Sunk on the earth, defac'd, its lovely fonii, 
Unless your shelter Avard th' impending storm. 

Our second Right — but needless here is cautioA 
To keep that right inviolate's the fashion; 
Each man of sense has it so full before him, 
He'd die before he'd wrong it — 'tis decorum. 
There was, indeed, in far less polish'd days, 
A time when rougli, rude man had naughty ways , 
Would swagger, swear, get drunk, kick up a riot, 
Nay, even thus invade a lady's quiet ! 
Now, thank our stars ! those Gothic times are fled 
Now, well-bred men — and you are all well-bred — 
Most justly think (and we are much the gainers' 
Such conduct neither spirit, wit, nor manners. 
3^ " * ' 



474 BURNS'S POEMS. 

For Right the third, our last, our bes<, our doaresi 
That right to tiutt'ring female hearts the nearest, 
Which ev'n the Rights of Kings, in low prostratioa 
Most humbly own — 'tis dear, dear admiration! 
In that blest sphere alone we live and move. 
There taste that life of life, — immortal love ! 
Smiles, glances, sighs, tears, fits, flirtations, airs, 
'Gainst such a host what flinty savage dares ? 
When awful beauty joins with all her charms, 
Who is so rash as rise in rebel arms? 

But truce with kings, and truce with constitution^ 
With bloody armaments and revolutions ; 
Let majesty your first attention summon, 
Ah ca Ira! the Majesty of Woman! 



ADDRESS, 

BFOKEN BY MISS FONTENELLE, ON HER BENEFIT NIGUT 
DECEMBER 4, 3795, AT THE THEATRE, DUMFRIES 

^TiLL anxious to secure your partial favor, 
And not less anxious sure this night than ever, 
A Prologue, Epilogue, or some such matter, 
'Twould vamp my bill, said I, if rothing better; 
So, sought a Poet, roosted near the skies. 
Told him I came to feast my cur /ous eyes ; 
Said, nothing like his works was ever printed ; 
And last my Prologue business slily hinted. 
** Ma'am, let me tell you," quoth my man of rhymei^ 
"i know your bent — these are no laughing time* 



BUR.NS S POF.MS. 375 

Can /on — l)\it, Miss, I own I itave my fears, 
Dissolve in pause — and sentimental te;M-s — 
With laden siyhs, and soleinn-rounded senteticft, 
Rouse from his sluggish ski luljers, full Repentance ^ 
PanU Vonjrcance as he takes his horrid staiid 
VVavin(<^ on high the desolating brand, 
Callino- ihe storms to bear him o'er a guilty land'" 

I could no more - askance the creature eyeing, 
" D'ye think," said I, " this face was made for crying ? 
I'll laugh, that's poz ; nay more, the world shall know it 
And so, your servant ! gloomy master Poet! " 

P^irm as my creed, sir, 'tis my fix'd belief, 
That Misery's another word for Grief; 
I also think — so may I be a bride! 
That so much laughter's so much life enjoy'd. 

Thou man of crazy care, and ceaseless sigh, 
Still under bleak Misfortune's bj.usting eye; 
Doom'd to that sorest task of man alive — 
To make three guineas do the work of five ; 
Laugh in Misfortune's face — the beldam witch 
Say, you'll be merry, tho' you can't be ricfi. 

Thou other man of care, the wretch in lovti,. 
Who long with jiltish arts and airs hast strove 
Who, as the boughs all temptingly project, 
Measur'st, in desp'rate thought, a rope — thy nock 
Or, wliere the beetling cliff o'eriiangs the deep, 
Peerest to meditate the healing leap ; 
Would'st t'lou be cur'd, thou silly, moping elf? 
Laugh at hBr follies — laugh e'en a* thyself 



B76 tfC/lWc's FJEMS. 

Learn tv de^.^ise those frowns, now so terrific^ 
And love a kinder — that's your grand specific 

To sum up all, be merry, I advise ; 
^nd as we're merry, may we still be wintt 



FRAGMENT, 

INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HOr«. C. J. fOI- 

How wisdom and folly meet, mix, and unite, 
How virtue and vice blend their black and their white 
How Genius, th' illustrious futlier of fiction. 
Confounds rule and law, reconciles contradiction — 
I sing: If these mortals, the critics, should buntle, 
I care not, not I ! let tlie critics go whistle. 

But now for a patron, whose name and whose glorjf 
At once nuiy illustrate and honor my story. 

rbon, first of our orators, first of our wits ; 
Vet whose parts and acquirements seem mere luckj 

hits ; 
With knowledge so vast, and with judgment so strong 
No man with the half of 'em e'er went far wrong ; 
With passions so potent, and iancies so bright, 
No man with the half of 'em e'er went quite right ; 
A sorry, poor, misbegot son of the Muses. 
For using thy name offers fifty excuses 



BURNS'S POEMS. 3>7 

Good L- -d, vhat is man ? for simple as he looks, 
Oo but try to develop hia hooks and his crooks, 
With his depths and his shallows, his good and hi« 

evil, 
A i in all he's a problem must puzzle the devil 

On his one ruling passion Sir Pope hugely labors, 
That, like th' old Hebrew walking-suck, eats up ita 

neighbors ; 
Mankind are his show-box — a friend, would you know 

him ? 
Pull the string — ruling passion the pioiure will show 

him. 
What pity, in rsarmg so beauteous a system. 
One trifling particular, truth, should have miss'd him ' 
For, spite of his fine theoretic positions. 
Mankind is a science defies definitions ! 

Some sort all our qualities, each to its tribe, 
And think human nature they iruly describe: 
Have you found this or t'other.'* there's more in th€ 

w^ind, 
As by one drunken fellow his comrades you'll find. 
But such is the flaw, or the depth of the plan. 
In the make of that wonderful creature, call'd Man, 
No two virtues, whatever relation they claim, 
Nor even two different shades of the same, 
Though like as was ever twin brother to brother 
Possessing the one shall imply you've the other 



^8 BURNS'S PGEH9 



INSCRIPTION 

rOR AN ALIAR TO INDEPENDENCt, AT KERROUQHTf f 
THE SEAT OF MR. HERON, WRITTEN IN SUMMER, 17D5. 

Thou of an independent mind. 

With soul resolv'd, with soul rosign'd ; 

Prepar'd PowVs proudest frown to brave, 

Who wilt not be, nor have a slave ; 

Virtue alone who dost revere. 

Thy own reproach alone dost fear, — 

Approach this shrine, and worship here 



ADDRESS TO EDINBURGH 



Edina! Scotia's darling* seat! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs, 
Where once, beneath a monarch's feet, 

Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'rs ! 
From marking wildly-scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I strayM, 
And singing, lone, the liiig'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 



Buaws's POEMS. 379 



II. 



Here, Wealth still swells the golden tide, 

As busy Trade his labors plies ; 
There, Architecture's noble pride 

Bids e.egance and splendor rise; 
Here, Justice, from her native skies. 

High wields her balance and her rod 
There, Learning, with his eagle eyes, 

Seeks Science in her coy abode. 



Thy sons, Edina, social, kind, 

With open arms the stranger haii ! 
Their views enlarg'd, their lib'ral mind 

Above the narrow rural vale ; 
Attentive still to Sorrow's wail, 

Or modest Merit's silent claim ; 
And never may their sources fail ! 

And never Envy blot their name* 



Thy daughters bright thy walks adorn 

Gay as the gilded summer sky, 
Swoet as the dewy, milk-white thorn, 

Dear as the raptur'd thrill of joy ! 
Fair B strikes the adoring eye ! 

Heav'n's beauties on my fancy shine, 
I see the Sire of love on high, 

And own his work inr^eed divine ! 



There, watching high the least aiarrai, 
Thy rough, rude fortress gleams afar; 



560 BURNS S POEMS. 

Like some bold vet'ran, gray in arms, 
And inark'd with many a seamy scar; 

The pond'rous wall and massy bar, 
Grim-rising o'er the rugged rock, 

Have oft withstood assailing war, 
And oft repell d the invader's shock. 



ri. 

With awe-struck thought, and pitying tearik 

I view that noble, stately dome. 
Where Scotia's kings, of other years, 

Fam'd heroes ! had their royal home : 
Alas ! how chang'd the times to come ; 

Their royal name low in the dust I 
Their hapless race wild-wand'ring roam ! 

Tho' rigid law cries out, 'Twas juat 



Wild beats my hea.t 'to trace your steps, 

Whose ancestors, in days of yore, 
Thro' hostile ranks, end ruin'd gaps. 

Old Scotia's bloody lion bore : 
Ev'n I, who sing in rustic lore. 

Haply my sires have left their shed. 
And fac'd grim Danger's loudest roar. 

Bold following where your fathers led 

vin. 

Edina! Scotia's darling seat! 

All hail thy palaces and tow'rs. 
Where, once beneatli a monarch's feet, 

Sat legislation's sov'reign pow'w! 



BURNS'S POEMS. 381 

From marking wildly scatter'd flow'rs, 

As on the banks of Ayr I stray'd, 
And singing, lone, the Jing'ring hours, 

I shelter in thy honor'd shade. 



BOOK V. 

SONGS AND BALLADS. 



A VISION 

As I stood on yon roofless tower, 

Where the w&'-flower scents the dowy air. 
Where the how'^t mourns in her ivy bower, 

And tells the midnight moon ner cure : 

The winds were laid, the air was slill, 
The stars they sHot alonnr tlie sky : 

The fox was howling on the hill, 
And the distant-echoing glens reply 

The stream, udown its hazelly patli, 
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's. 

Hasting to join the sweeping Nith, 
Whase distant roarmg swells and ta''9. 

Tne cauld blue north was streaming forth 
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din ; 

Athart the lift they start and shift. 
Like Fortune's favors, tint as win. 

By heedless chance I turn'd my eyes, 
And by tlie moonbeam, shook, to «e» 



BtRNS^S POEMS 

A Btern and stalwart ghaist arise, 
Attir'd as minstrels wont to be. 

Had I statue been o' stane, 

His darin' look had daunted me: 

And on his bonnet grav'd was plain, 
The sacred posy — Libertie! 

And frae his harp sic strains did flow 

Might rous'd the slumbering dead to hear: 

But, oil ! it was a tale of wo. 
As ever met a Briton's ear. 

Re sang wi' joy his former day, 

He, weeping, wail'd his latter times; 

But what he said it was nae play, 
I winna ventur't in my rhymes.* 



• Tlie scenery, so finely described in this poem, is taken from nature. 
riie poet is siijiposed to Ije musinff, by night, on lite banks of tiie Clu- 
den, near the ruins of Lincluden Abbey, of which some account is given 
in r-jnuiDi's Tour and Grose's Antiquities. It is to be regretted that ha 
luppressed the song of Liber' e. From the resources of his genJus, and 
the grandeur ami solemnity of ♦•"• nreparaiion, something might have 
ceen anticipaied. equal, if not superior, to tne ^'''ircss of Bruce to bii 
knay, to the Song of Death, or lo ifte fervid and noh.'e de»crip'.ion o 
*t Dynijj Soldier in Ike Field of Buttla. 



384 BURNS'S POElb«. 



BANNOCK BURN. 

ROBERT BKDCE's ADDRESS TO HIS AKMl 

Scots, wha hae Avi' VVahace bled, 
Scots, wham Bruce has afien led ; 
Welcome to your gory bed, 
Or to glorious victorie. 

Now's the day, and now's the hour; 
See the front of battle lower; 
See approach proud Edward's power — 
Edward ! chains ! and slaverie ! 

Wha will be a traitor knave? 
Wha can till a coward's grave ? 
Wha sae base as be a slave ? 

Traitor ! coward ! turn and flee ! 

Wha for Scotland's king and law 
Freedom's sword will strongly draw- 
Freeman stand, or freeman fa'? 
Caledonian ! on wi' me ! 

By oppression's woes and pains ! 
By your sons in servile chains! 
We will drain our dearest veins, 

But they shall be — shall be fro«I 

Lay the proud usurpers low i 
Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
Liberty's in every blow! 

Forward ! let us do, or die ! 



BURN 9 S POEMS. 385 



SONG OF DEATH. 

fl ENE — JJ Field of Battle. Time of the day — Even- 
infT. The wounded and dying of the victorious army 
art supposed to join in the following Song. 

Pa RF. WELL, tliou fair day, thou <^reen earth, and ye 

skies, 
Now gay with the hright setting sun ; 
Farewell, loves and friendships, ye dear tender tiei 
Our race of existence is run ! 

Vhou gnm king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, 

(lO, frigiiten the coward and slave ; 
(ro, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know, 

No terrors hast thou to the brave ! 

Thou Ktrik'st the dull peasant — he sinks in the dark, 

Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name ; 
Tiiou strik'st the young hero — a glorious mark ! 

He fulls in the blaze of his fame! 

In the proud field of honor — our swords in our hands 

Our king and our country to save — 
While Victory shines on life's last ebbing sands 

O! who wou'd not rest with the brave! 
3.3 



BURKS S POEMS. 



IMITATION 

or AN OLD JACOBITE SONS. 

Bi }on castle wa', at the close of the day, 
I heard a man sing, though his head it was gray; 
And as he was singing, the tears fast down came — 
There'll never he peace till Famie comes hame. 

The ciiurch is in ruins, the state is in jars; 
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars; 
We dare na weel say't, but we ken wha's to blame— 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, 
And now I greet round their green beds in the yerd 
It brak the SAveet heart o' my faithfu' auld dame — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 

Now life is a burden that bows me down, 
Sin' I tint my bairns, and he tint his crov/n ; 
But till my last moment my words are the same — 
There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame. 



THE LASS OF INVERNESS. 

The lovely lass o' Inverness, 

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see, 

For e'en and morn she cries, Alas ! 
And ay the saut tear blin's her 



BURNS S FORMS. 381 

D.iimossie moor, Drumossie day, 

A waetii' day it was to me ; 
For there 1 lost my father dear. 

My fattier dear, ai,d brethren three 

Their winding sheet the bluidy clay, 
Their graves are growing green to see 

And by them lies the dearest lad 
That ever blest a woman's e'e ' 



A bluidy man I trow thou be ; 
For monie a heart thou hast made sair, 
That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee. 



THE ABSENT WARRIOR. 

Tune — " Logan Mooter." 

O Logan ! sweetly didst thou glide, 
That day I was my Willie's bride ; 
And years sinsyne have o'er us run, 
liike Logan to the simmer sun. 
But now thy flow'ry banks appear, 
Like drumlie winter, dark and drear : 
While my dear lad maun face his fae«, 
Far, far frae me and Logan braes. 

Again the merry month o' May 
Has ma.le our hills and valleys gay ; 



188 BURNS'S FOKMS. 

The oirds rejoice in leafy bowers, 
The bees hum round the breathing flow*r 
Blithe Morning lifts his rosy eye, 
And Evening's tears are tears of joy ; 
My soul, delightless, a' surveys, 
While Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

Within yon milk-white hawthorn bus!i, 
Amang her nestlings sits the thrush ; 
Her faithfu' mate will share her toil, 
Or wi' his song her cares beguile ; 
But I, wi' my sweet nurslings here, 
Nae mate to help, nae mate to cheer, 
Pass widow'd nights and joyless days, 
Whife Willie's far frae Logan braes. 

O, wae upon you, men o' state. 
That brethren rouse to deadly hate! 
As ye make monie a fond heart mourii, 
Sae may it on your heads return! 
How can your flinty hearts enjoy 
The widow's tears, the orphan's cry r 
But soon may peace bring happier dsy% 
And Willie, hame to Logan braef 



BURNS'S POEMS J89 



THE WARRIOR'S RETURN. 
Air — " TU MUl, Mill, O." 

When wild war's deadly blast was olawn. 

And geiitle peace returning, 
Wi' ^onie a sweet babe fatherless, 

And monie a widow mourning: 

I left the lines and tented field, 
Where lang I'd been a lodger, 

My humble knapsack a' my wealth, 
A poor and honest sodger. 

A leal, light heart was in my breast, 
My hand unstain'd wi' plunder ; 

And for fair Scotia's hame again, 
T cheery on did wander. 

1 thought upon the banks o' Coil, 

I thought upon my Nancy, 
\ thought upon the witching smile 

That caught my youthful fancy. 

At length I reach'd the bonie glen, 

Where early life I sported ; 
i pass'd the mill and trystiii' thorn. 

Where Nancy aft I courted. 

Wha spied I but my ain dear maid, 
Down by her mother's dwelling! 

And turn'd me round to hide the flood 
That in my een was swelling. 



3fl0 BDRNS'S POEMS. 

Wi' alter'd voice, quoth I, sweet lasa, 
Sweet as yon hawthorn's blossom, 

O ! happy, happy may he be, 
That's dearest to thy bosom! 

My purse is light, I've far to gang. 

And fain would be thy lodger ; 
iVe serv'd my king and country lang 

Take pity on a sodger. 

Sae wistfully she gaz'd on me, 
And lovelier was than ever; 

Quo' she, a sodger ance I lo*ed. 
Forget him shall I never. 

Our humble cot, and hamely fare, 

Ye freely shall partake it, 
That gallant badge, the dear cockade, 

Ye're welcome for the sake o't 

rihe gaz'd — slie redden'd like a rose — ^ 

Syne pale like ony lily ; 
She sank within my arms, and cried. 

Art thou my ain dear Willie ? 

By him who made yon sun and sky — 
By whom true love's regarded, 

I am the man ; and thus may still 
True lovers be rewarded. 

The wars are o'er, and I'm come hame^ 
And find thee still true-hearted: 

Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love. 
And mair we'se ne'er be parted 



nURNS's POEMS. 391 

Q,uo' she, fny grandsire left me g"owu, 

A mailen plenish'd fairly ; 
And come, my faithful sodger lad, 

Thou'rt welcome to it dearly ! 

For gold the merchant ploughs the main. 

The farmer ploughs the manor* 
But glory is the sodger's prize, 

The sodger's wealth is honor. 

The brave poor sodger ne'er despise, 

Nor count him as a stranger ; 
ftemember, he's his country's stay 

\n day and hour of danger. 



LORD GREGORY. 

' '♦ MIRK, mirk is this midnight hour, 

And loud the tempest's roar ; 
4. waefu' wanderer seeks thy tow'r — 

Lord Gregory, ope thy door. 

An exile frae her father's ha', 

And a' for loving thee ; 
\t least some pity on me show, 

If love it may na be. 

Jiord Gregory, mind'st th:ni not the grow 

By bonie Irwine side, 
Where first I own'd that virgin-love 

I lang, lang had denied. 



392 BURNS S POEMS. 

How aflen didst thou pledge and vow, 
Thou wad for ay be mine! 

And my fond heart, itsel' sae ♦rue 
It ne'er mistrusted thine. 

Hard is thy heart, Lord Gregory, 

And flinty is thy breast: 
Thou dart of Heaven, that flashest b) 

O wilt thou give me rest ? 

Ye mustering thunders from above, 

Your willing victim see! 
But spare, and pardon my fause lovt 

His wrangs to Heaven and me ! 



OPEN THE DOOR TO ME, OH! 

WITH ALTERATIONS. 

9h, open the door, some pity show. 

Oh, open tlie door to me, oh! 
Tho' thou hast been false, I'll ever prove trtie; 

Oh, open the door to me oh ' 

Cauld is the blast upon my pale cheek, 

But caulder thy love for me, oh : 
The frost that freezes the life at my heart, 

Is nought to my pains frae thee, oh ! 

The wan mooi is setting behind the white wav% 
And time is setting with me, oh' 



BURNS'S POEMS. 3SW 

False friends, false love, farewell ! for mair 
I'll ne'er trouble them nor thee, oh! 

She has open'd the door, she has open'd it wide ; 

She sees his pale corse on the plain, oh ! 
.My true love! she cried, and sank down by his side 

Never to rise again, oh ! 



THE ENTREATY. 

Tune — " Let me in this ae nightJ* 

O LASSIE, art thou sleeping yet? 
Or art thou wakin, I would wit? 
For Love has bound rae hand and foot, 
And I would fain be in, jo. 

CHORUS. 

O let me in this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night; 
For pity's sake, this ae night, 

O rise and let m? in, jo. 

Thou hear'st the wmter wind and weei, 
Nae star blinks thro' the driving sleet; 
Tak pity on my weary feet, 

And shield me frae the rain, jo. 
O let, S:c, 



99A BDRNS^S POEMS. 

The bitter blast that round me blairs, 
Unheeded howls, unheeded fa's ; 
The cauldness o' thy heart's the cauM 
Of a' my grief and pain, jo. 
O let, &c. 



THE ANSWER. 

O TELD na me o' wind and rain, 
Upbraid na me wi' cauld disdain! 
Gae back the gate ye cam again, 
I winna let you in, jo. 



I tell you now this ae night, 

This ae, ae, ae night; 
And ance for a', this ae night, 

I winna let you in, jo 

The snelliest blast, at mirkest hourn, 
That round the pathless wand'rer pours, 
Is nocht to what poor she endures 
That's trusted faithless man, jo. 
I tell, &c. 

The sweetest flower that deck'd the mead^ 
Now trodden like t^e vilest weed ; 
Let simple maid the lesson read, 
The weird may be her ain, jo. 
1 tell, &LQ 



BURNS'S POEMS. 

The bird that cham'd his summer-day, 
Is now the cruel fowler's prey ; 
Let witless, trusting woman say 

How aft her fate's tiie same, jo. 
I tell, &c 



THE FORLORN LOVER. 

Tune — "ie< me in this ae ni^hi.'" 

Forlorn, my love, no comfort near, 
Far, far from thee, I wander here. 
Far, far from thee, the fate severe, 
At which [ most repine, lore. 



v) wert thi»u, love, but near ki3, 
But near, near, near nie ; 
How kindly thou wouldst cheer me, 
iiiid mingle sighs with mine, love 

Around me scowls a wint'ry sky. 
That blasts each bud of hope and joy, 
And shelter, shade, nor home have 1, 
Save in those arms of thine, love^ 
O wert, &c. 

Cold, aller'd Friendship's cruel part, 
To poison Fortune's rutliless dart — 
Let me not break thy faithful heart, 
And say tliat fate is mine, love. 
O wert, &.C. 



BW BURNS'S POEM* 

But dreaiy tho' the moments fleet 
O let me tliink we yet shall meet 
That only ray of solace sweet 

Can on thy Chloris shine, love. 
O wert, &-€. 



THE DREARY NIGHT. 
Tune — " Cauld Kail in Jlherdttti, 

How long and dreary is the night. 
When I am frae my dearie ! 

I restless lie frae e'en to morn, 
Though I were ne'er sae weary. 

CHORUS. 

For oh, her lanely nights are lang ; 

And oh, her dreams are eerie; 
And oh, her widow'd heart is sair, 

That's absent frae her dearie. 

When I think on the lightsome dayt 
I spent wi' tliee, my dearie ; 

And now what seas between us roar, 
How can I but be eerie? 
For oh &c. 

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours* 
The joyless day, how dreary ! 

It was na sae ye glinted by. 
When I was wi' ray dearie. 
For oh, &.C. 



BUKNS 8 POEMS. 



POORTITH CAULD. 
Tune — ''I had a Horsed 

O POORTITH cauld, and restless lov«. 
To wreck my peace between ye; 

Yet poortith a' I could forgive, 
An' twere na for my Jeany. 



O why should Fate sic pleasure have 
Life's dearest bands untwining? 

Or why sae sweet a flower as Love, 
Depend on Fortune's shining? 

Thii warld's wealth, when I think oa 
It's pride and a' the lave o't ; 

Fie, fie on silly coward man, 
That he should be the slave o't 
O why, &.C. 

Her een sae bonie blue betray 
How she repays my passion; 

But prudence is her o'erword ay, 
She talks of rank and fashion, 
O why &c. 

(1 wha can prudence think upon, 

And sic a lassie by him? 
O wha can prudence think u|)or, 
And sae in love as I am ? 
O why, &.C. 
34 



5y8 BCRNS'S POEMS. 

How blest the humble cotter's fate* 
He woos his simple dearie ; 

The sillie bogles, wealth and state« 
Can never make them eerie. 
O why, &c 



CLARINDA. 



Cl A RIND A, mistress of my soul 

The measur'd time is run ! 
The wretch beneath the dreary pol« 

So marks his latest sun. 

To what dark cave of frozen night 

Shall poor Sylvander hie ? 
Depriv'd of thee, his life and light. 

The sun of all his joy. 

We part — but by these precious drop* 

That fill tliy lovely eyes ! 
No other light shall guide my steps 

Till thy bright beams arise. 

She, the fair sun of all her sex, 
lias blest my glorious day ; 

And shall a glimm'ring planet fix 
Mj worship to its ray? 



RURNS^'S POEMS. dS9i/ 



ISABELLA. 

TuRE —"ATGngor of Revo's Lamt^J* 

Rating winds around her blowing, 
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing — 
By a river hoarsely roaring, 
Isabella stray'd, deploring — 
" Farewell, hours that late did measure 
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure ; 
Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, 
Cheerless night, that knows no morrow 

" O'er the past too fondly wand'ring, 
On the hopeless future pond'ring ; 
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes, 
Fell despair my fancy seizes. 
Life, Lhou soul of ev'ry blessing, 
Load to mis'ry most distressing, 
O, how gladly I'd resign thee, 
And to dark oblivion join tliee!" 



WANDERING WILLIE. 

IIkre awa, there ^wa, wandering Willie, 
Here awa. there awa, baud away hame ; 

Come to my bosom, mj ain only dearie, 

Tell me thou bring'sc me my Willie the aame 



100 BURiXS'S POEM^. 

Winter winds blew loud and cauld at oiii parting. 
Fears for my Willie broufjht tears in my e'e; 

Welcome now simmer, and welcome my Willie, 
The simmer to nature, my Willie to me! 

Rest, ye wild storms, in the cave of your slumbers^ 
How your dread howling a lover alarms ! 

Wauken, ye breezes ; row gently, ye billows, 
And wafl my dear laddie ance mair to my arms 

But oh ! if he's faithless, and minds na his Nanie, 
Flow still between us, thou wide-roaring main! 

May I never see it, may I never trow it. 
But. dying, believe that my Willie's my ain I 



THE PARTING KISS. 

Jockey's taen the parting kiss, 
O'er the mountains he has gane ; 

And with him is a' my bliss: 

Nought but griefs with me remaia 

Spare my luve, ye winds that blaw. 
Flashy sleets and beating rain! 

Spare my luve, thou feath'ry snaw, 
Drifting o'er the frozen plain ! 

When the shades of evening creep 
O'er the day's fair, gladsome e'e 

Sound and safely may he sleep, 
Sweetly blithe his wauk'ning ho 



BURNS S rOEMS. 401 



He will thinK on ner he loves. 

Fondly he'll repeat her name; 
^nr where'er he distant rovea, 

Jockey's heart is still at hame. 



THE ROARING OCEAN 
Tune — " Druinmn dvhh,* 

Musing on the roaring ocean, 
Which divides my love and me 

Wearying Heav'n, in warm devotion, 
For his weal, where'er he be. 

Hope and fear's alternate billow 
Yielding late to Nature's law; 

Whisp'ring spirits, round my pillow 
Talk of him that's far awa. 

Ye whom sorrow never woundea. 
Ye who never shed a tear, 

Care-untroubled, joy-surrounded, 
Gaudy day to you is dear. 

Gentle night! do thou befriend mt 
Downy sleep, the curtain draw; 

Spirits kind, again attend me, 
Talk of him that's far awa . 
34* 



i(fJi buruh's rosMft. 



PAIR ELIZA. 

k GAELIC AIR. 

Torn again, thou fair Eliza, 

Ae kinc blink, before we part, 
Row on thy despairing lover; 

Canst thou break his faithful hearts 
Turn again, tliou fair Eliza ; 

If to love thy heart denies. 
For pity hide the cruel sentence 

Under friendship's kind disguise. 

Thee, dear maid, hae I offended? 

The offence is loving thee ! 
Canst thou wreck his peace for ever, 

Wha for thine would gladly die ? 
While the life beats in my bosom. 

Thou shall mix in ilka throe ; 
Turn again, thou lovely maiden, 

Ae sweet smile on me bestow 

Not the bee upon the blossom. 

In the pride o' sinny noon ; 
Not the little sporting fairy, 

Ali beneath the simmer moon ; 
Not the poet in the moment 

Fancy lightens on his e'e. 
Kens the pleasure, feels the raptara^ 

That thy presence gies to me. 



BCUfS's FOF.MS. 



EUZA. 

Funk — " Mincy's to the Greentoocd," ^c 

Farewell, thou stream that winding flows 
Around Eliza's dwelling! 

mem'ry, spare the cruel throes 
Within my bosom swelling. 

Condemn'd to drag a hopeless chain, 

And yet in secret languish, 
To feel a fire in ev'ry vein. 

Nor dare disclose my anguish. 

Love's veriest wretch, unseen, unknown, 

I fain my griefs would cover ; 
The bursting sigh, th' unweeting groan, 

Betray the hapless lover. 

1 know thou dootn'st rnc to despair 
Nor wilt nor canst relieve me ; 

But oh, Eliza, hear one prayer, 
For pity's sake, forgive me. 

The music of thy voice I heard, 

Nor wist, while it enslav'd me ; 
i saw thine eyes, yet nothing fear**!, 

Till fears no more had sav'd me: 
Th' unwary sailor thus aghast. 

The wheeling torrent viewing, 
"Mid circling horrors, sinks at last 

In overwhelming ruin. 



104 BURN8'S FOEMS. 



THE BRAES O' BALLOCHMYLE. 

The Catrine woods were yellow seen, 
The flow'rs decay'd on Catrine lea ; 

Nae lav'rock sang on hillock green, 
But Nature sicken'd on the e'e. 

Thro' faded groves Maria sang, 

Hersel' in beauty's bloom the whylt, 

And ay the wild- wood echoes rang, 
Farewell the braes o' Ballochmyle. 

Low in your wint'ry oeds, ye flow'rs, 
Again ye'll flourish fresh and fair ; 

Ye birdies dumb, in with'ring bow'rs, 
Again ye'll charm the vocal air: 

But here, alas ! for mo, nae mair 
Shall birdie charm, or flow'ret smile, 

Farewell the bonie banks of Ayr, 

Farewell, farewell! sweet Ballochmyift 



GLOOMY DECEMBER. 

AeiCE mair I hail tliee, thou gloomy December 
Ance mair I hail thee, wi' sorrow and care; 

Sad was the parting thou makes me remember, 
Parting wi' Nancy, oh! ne'er to meet mairl 



BURNS'S POEMS. 409 

Fond lovers' parting is sweet, painful pleasure; 

Hope beaming mild on the soft, parting hour; 
But tlie dire feeling, O farewell for ever! 

Is anguish unmingled, and agony pure. 

Wild as the Winter now tearing the forest, 
Till the last leaf o' the Summer is flown, 

Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom, 
Since my last hope and last comfort is gone. 

Still as I hail thee, thou gloomy December, 
Still shall I hail thee wi' sorrow and care ; 

For sad was the parting thou makes me remerabei 
Parting wi' Nancy, oh, ne'er to meet main 



DEPARTURE OF NANCY. 
Tone — " 0/-an-ofaoi7." 

Behold the hour, the boat arrive ; 

Thou goest, thou darling of my heart' 
Scver'd from thee, can I survive ? 

But fate has will'd, and we must part 

PL often greet this surging swell, 
Yon distant isle will often hail : 

'♦ E'en here I took the last farewell ; 
There, latest mark'd her vanish'd sail.* 

Along the solitary shore. 
While flitting sea-fowl ijund me cry. 



40C BURNS S FOEM« 

Across the rolling, dashing roar, 
I'll westward turn my wistful eye" 

Happy, thou Indian grove, I'll say, 

Where now my Nancy's path may be! 

While tliro' thy sweets she loves to atray, 
O tell me, does she muse on me ? 



MY NANIE'S AW A. 

TuwE — " There'll never be peace,''* ifc. 

Now in her green mantle blithe Nature arrays. 
And listens the lambkins that bleat o'er the braes, 
While birds warble welcome in ilka green shaw ; 
But to me it's delightless — my Nanie's awa. 

The snaw-drap and primrose our woodlands adorn, 
And violets bathe in the weet o' the morn ; 
They pain my sad bosom so sweetly they biaw, 
They mind me o' Nanie — and Nanie's awa. 

Thou lav'rock that springs frae the dews of the lawi\ 
The shepherd to warn o' the gray-breaking dawn, 
And thou mellow mavis that hails the night-fa', 
Giie over, for pity — my Nanie's awa. 

Come, Autumn, sae pensive, in yellow and gray, 
And soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's decay: 
The dark, dreary Winter, and wild- driving snaw 
Alane can delight me — now Nanie's awa. 



BURNS 8 POEMS. 



im 



. BANKS C* DOON. 

f E banks and braes o' bonie Doon 
How can ye bloorn sae fresh and fail ' 

How can ye chant, ye little birds, 
And I sae weary, fu' o' care? 

Thou'lt break my heart, thou warbling biid, 
That wantons thro' the flow'ring thorn: 

Thou minds me o' departed joys, 
Departed, never to return. 

Ofl hae I rov'd my bonie Doon, 
To see the rose and woodbine twins ; 

And ilka bird sang o' its love, 
And fondly sae did I o' mine. 

Wi' lightsome heart I pu'd a rose, 
Fj' sweet upon its thorny tree; 

And my fause lover stole my rose, 
But, ah! he lea the thorn wi' we 



THE DISCONSOLATE LOVER. 

Now Spring has clad the grcvee in green, 
And strew'd the lea wi' flowers ; 

The furrow'd waving corn is seen 
Kejoice in fostering showers : 



108 BDR.vs'S POEMS. 

While ilka thing in nature join 

The J* sorrows to forego, 
O why thus all alone are mine 

The weary steps of wo ! 

The trou. within yon wimpling burn 

Glides swift, a silver dart, 
And safe beneath the shady tliorn, 

Defies the angler's art : 
My life was ance that careless stream, 

That wanton trout was I ; 
But love, wi' unrelenting beam, 

Has scorchM my fountains dry. 

The little flowret's peaceful lot. 

In yonder cliff that grows, 
Which, save the linnet's flight, T wot 

Nae ruder visit knows. 
Was mine ; till love has o'er me past, 

And blighted a' my bloom ; 
And now, beneath the withering blast, 

My youth and joy consume. 

The waken'd lav'rock Avarbling springt 

And climbs the early sky, 
Winnowing blithe her dewy wings. 

In morning's rosy eye ; 
As little reckt I sorrow's pow'r, 

Until the flow'ry snare 
O' witching love, in luckless hour, 

Made me the thrall o' care. 

O, had my fate been Greenland snowg, 
Or A Trie's burning zone. 



BURNS S POEMS *"^ 



Wi' men and nature leagu'd my foes, 

So Peggy ne'er I'd known! 
The wretch whase doom is, "Hope nae mair 

What tongue his woes can tell ? 
Within whase bosom, save despair, 

Nae kinder spirits dwell. 



CRAGIE-BURN. 
Tune — " Cragie-Bum Wood.^ 

Sweet fa's the eve on Cragie-Burn, 
And blithe awakes the morrow; 

But a' the pride o' spring's return 
Can yield me nocht but sorrow. 

1 see the flowers and spreading trees, 
I hear the wild birds singing; 

But what a weary wight can please. 
And care his bosom wringing? 

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart, 

Yet dare na for your anger; 
But secret love will break my heart. 

If I conceal it langer. 

If thou refuse to pity me, 

If thou shalt love anither, 
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree, 

Around my grave they'll wither. 
35 



4!0 BURNrl'S rO£H» 



THE CHEERLESS SOUL 
Tune — "Jockey's Gray Breeka.^ 

Again rejoicing Nature sees 
Her robe assume its vernal hues ; 

Her leafy locks wave in the breeze, 
All freshly steep'd in morning dewa 

In vain to me the cowslips blaw. 
In vain to me the vi'lets spring ; 

In vain to me in glen or shaw, 
The mavis and the lintwhite sing. 

The merry ploughboy cheers his team, 
VVi' joy the tcntie seedsman stalks , 

But life to me's a weary dream, 
A dream of ane that never wauks. 

The wanton coot the water skims, 
Amang the reeds the ducklings cry ; 

The stately swan majestic swhns. 
And everything is blest but I. 

The sheep-herd steeks his faulding slap, 
And owre the moorland whistles shrill ; 

Wi' wild, unequal, wand'ring step 
I meet him on the dewy hill. 

And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 
Blithe waukens by the daisy's side, 



BURNS'S POEMS. 4ll 

And mounts and sings on flittering wings, 
A wo-wom ghaist, I hameward glide. 

Come, Winter, with thine angry howl. 
And, raging, bend the naked tree , 

Thy gloom will soothe my cheerless sou , 
When Nature all is sad like me! 



MARY MORISON. 
Tune — " Bide ye ijeC* 

Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wish'd, the trysted hour! 
Those smiles and glances let ne see, 

That make the miser's treasure poor ; 
How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun ; 
Could I the rich reward secure. 

The lovely Mary Morison 

Yestreen, when to the trembling string 
The dance gaed thro' the lighted ha' 

To thee my fancy took its wing, — 
I sat, but neither heard nor saw ! 

Tho' this was fair, and that was braw. 
And you the toast of a' the town, 

1 sigh'd, and said amang them a', 
" Ye are na Mary Morison." 



419 liLKNS's POEMS. 

O Marv, c\njt thou wreck his peace, 

Wha for tiiy sake Avould gladly die .' 
Or canst thvou break that heart of his, 

Whase only fault is loving thee ? 
If love for love thou wilt na gie, 

At least be pity to me shown: 
A thought ungentle canna be, 

The thought o' Mary Morison. 



FAIR JENNY. 
Tune — " Saw ye my faiher ? " 

Where are the joys that I've mot in the mcrning 
That danc'd to the lark's early sjng ? 

Where is the peace that awaited njy wand'ring. 
At evening, the wild woods among? 

No more a-winding the course of yon river. 

And marking sweet flow'rets so fair; 
No more I trace the light footsteps of pleasure, 

But sorrow and sad sighing care. 

Is it that Summer's forsaken our valleys. 

And grim, surly Winter is near? 
No, no ! the bees humming round tlie gay rosea, 

Proclaim it the pride of the year. 

Fain would I hide what I fear to discover, 
Yet long, long too well have I known 



BURiVS'S POEMS. 4l«j 

All that has caused this wreck in my bosom, 
Is Jenny, fair Jenny alone. 

Time cannot aid me, my griefs are immortal, 

Nor hope dare a comfort bestow: 
Come then, enamor'd and fond of my anguish, 

Enjoyment I'll seek in my wo. 



ADDRESS TO THE WOOD-LARK. 

roNE — " ffTiere'M bonie Ann lie 9'' Or, '' Loch Eroch 

O STAY, sweet-warbling wood-lark, stay, 
Nor quit for me the .trembling spray ; 
A hapless lover courts thy lay. 

Thy soothing, fond complaining. 

Again, again that tender part, 
That I may catch thy melting ai ; ; 
For surely that wad touch her heart, 
Wha kills me wi' disdaining. 

Say, was thy little mate unkind, 
And heard thee as the careless wind? 
Oh, nocht but love and sorrow join'd, 
Sic notes o' wo could wauken. 

Thou tells of never-ending care ; 
O' speechless grief and dark despair; 
P'^r pity's sake, sweet bird, nae mair 
Or my poor heart is broken ' 
35* 



tl4 BtiRNS^S POEMS. 



FRAGUiiNT, 

III WITHERSPOON'a COLLECTION OF SCOT's BOKflft 

Air — ^^ Hughie Graham.^ 

O WERE my love yon lilac fair, 

Wi' purple blossoms to the spring ; 
'And I a bird to shelter there, 

When wearied on my little wing: 

How wad I mourn when it was torn 
By autumn wild, and winter rude ! 

But I wad sing on wanton wing, 

When youthful May its bloom renewed.* 

" O gin my love were yon red rose, 
That grows upon the castle wa', 

And I mysel' a drap o' dew 
Into her bonie breast to fa'! 

" O, there beyond expression blest, 
I'd feast on beauty a' the night; 

Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest, 
Till fley'd awa by PhoBbus' light" 

• These stanzaii were prefixes by Burni. 



■CRNS S F0EM8 4]) 



ADDRESS TO A LADY. 

Ou, wert thou in the cauld blast, 

On yonder lea, on yonder lea, 
My phiidie to the angry airt, 

I'd shelter thee, I'd shelter thee: 
Or did misfortune's bitter storms 

Around thee blaw, around thee blaw, 
Thy bield should be my bosom, 

To share it a', to share it a'. 

Or were I in the wildest waste, 

Sae black and bare, sae black and bare 
The desert were a paradise. 

If thou wert there, if thou wert there : 
Or were I monarch o' the globe, 

Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign. 
The brightest jewel in my crown 

Wad be my queen, wad be my queen 



THE AULD MAN. 

Bltt lately seen in gladsome green, 

Tin woods rejoice the aay ; 
Thro' gentle show'rs the laughing flow*rt 

In double pride were gay. 



4ir BUKNS'S POEMS 

But noT9 our joys are fled 

On winter blasts awa ; 
Yet maiden May, in rich array, 

Again shall bring them a'. 

But my white pow, nae kindly thow» 

Shall melt the snaws of age ; 
My trunk of eild, but buss or bield. 

Sinks in Time's wint'ry rage. 
Oh, age has weary days. 

And nights o' sleepless pain; 
Thou golden time o' youthful prime. 

Why com'st thou not again ? 



JOHN ANDERSON, MY JO. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

When we were first acquent. 
Your locks were like the raven. 

Your bonie brow was brent; 
But now your brow is held, Johi^ 

Your locks are like the snow : 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 
We clamb the hill thegither 

And monie a canty day, John, 
We've had wi' ane anither; 



BNTRNS'S POEMS. 



417 



iiow we maun totter down, John 
But hand in hand we'll go, 

And sleep thegither at the foot, 
John Anderson ray jo. 



AULD LANG SYNE. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot, 
And never brought to min' ? 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot. 
And days o' lang syne ? 



For auld lang syne, my dear, 

For auld lang syne ; 
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet. 

For auld lang syne. 

vVe twa hae run about the braes, 

And pu't the go wans fine; 
But we've wander'd monie a weary fool, 

Sin' auld lang syne. 

For auld, &.c. 

We twa hae paidl't i' tne burn, 

Frae r.iornui' sun till dine , 
But seas between us braid hae roar'i. 

Sin' 9uld iang syne. 

For auld, &C 



IIS BURXS'S I'OKMH. 

And liere's a hand, my trusty ftere. 

And gie's a hand o' tliine ; 
And we'll tak a right guid willift-waugh4{ 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld, &,c. 

And surely ye'U be your pint-stowp. 

And surely Fli b%; mine ; 
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet, 

For auld lang syne. 

For auld, &c. 



HOPELESS LOVF. 
Tune — " Liggertmi CoshJ^ 

Blithe hae f been on yon hill. 
As the lambs before me ; 

Careless ilka thought and free, 
As the breeze flew o'er me: 

Now nae longer sport and play, 
Mirth nor sang can please nae ; 

Lesley is sae fair and coy, 
Care and anguish seize me. 

Heavy, heavy, is the task. 
Hopeless love declaring : 

Trembling, I dow nocht but fflow*r, 
Sighing, dumb, despairing . 



BURNS'S POEMS. 4tft 

if Hhe winna ease the thrawa, 

In my bosom swelling, 
Underneath the grass-green sod 

►Soon maun be my dwelling. 



BANKS OF NITH. 
Tune — ^^ Robie Donna Gorack/* 

1 IE Thames flows proudly to the sea, 
Where royal cities stately stand; 

Bat sweeter flows tlie Nith to me, 

Where Commons ance had high command! 

When shall I see that honor'd land, 
That winding stream I love so dear ? 

Must wayward Fortune's adverse hand 
Fo" ever, ever keep me here ? 

How lovely, Nith, thy fruitful vales, 

Where spreading hawthorns gaily bloorn ' 

How sweetly wind thy sloping dales. 
Where lambkins wanton thro' the broora 

Tho' wand'ring now, must be my doom, 
Far from thy bonie banks and braes. 

May there my latest hor.rs consume, 
Amang the friends of ear.y days I 



BURNS'S POEMa. 



BANKS OF CREH 

Here is the glen, and here ti)j Low^ 
All underneath the birchen iiuadxi; 

The village bell has told the aour : 
O what can stay my lovely maid ^ 

'Tis not Maria's whisp'ring call ; 

'Tis but the balmy-breatliing ga'v 
Mixt with some warbler's dying cs 

The dewy star of eve to haii. 

It is Maria's voice I hear ! 

So calls the wood-lark, in the grove, 
His little faithful mate to cheer ; 

At once 'tis music — and 'tis love. 

And art thou come ? and art thou tru« ? 

O welcome, dear to love and mc ! 
And let us all our vows renew, 

Along the flow'ry banks of Cree. 



CASTLE GORDON 

Streams that glide in orient plaina, 
Never bound by wJMler's chains ; 
Glowing here on golden sands, 
There commix'd with foulest staina 



BURNS'S POEltfS. 431 

Prom tyranny's empurpi'd bands ; 
These, their richly-^leamiMig waves, 
I leave to tyrants and their slavea ; 
Give me the stream that sweetly lavet 
The banks by Castle Gordon. 

Spicy forests, ever gay, 
Shading from the burning ray 
Hapless wretches sold to toil, 
Or the ruthless native's way. 
Bent on slaughter, blood, and spoil ; 
Woods that ever verdant wave, 
I leave the tyrant and his slave; 
Give me the groves that lofty brave 
The storms by Castle Gordon. 

Wildly here, without control. 
Nature reigns, and rules the whole ; 
In that sober, pensive mood. 
Dearest to the feeling soul, 
She plants the forest, pours the flood, 
Life's poor day I'll musing rave, 
And find at night a shelt'ring cave, 
Where waters flow and wild woods wif» 
By bonie Castle Gordon, 
36 



BURNS'S POEMS 



AFTON WATER. 

Flow gently, sweet Aflon, among thy green braes , 
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise: 
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 

Thou stock-dove whose echo resounds thro' tlie glen 
Ye wild-whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, 
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear;. 
I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. 

How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighboring hills. 
Far mark'd by the courses of clear, winding rills 
There daily I wander, as noon rises high, 
My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye. 

How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below 
Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow 
There, oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, 
The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. 

Thy crystal stream, Afton, how gently it glides, 
And M^nds by the cot where my Mary resides : 
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, 
As, gath'ring sweet flow'rets, she stems thy clear wa^ci 

How gently, sweet Afton, among thy green brace, 
Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays • 
My INIary's asleep by thy murmuring stream ; 
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. 



BURNS'S POKMS iZ\ 



THE SACRED VOW. 
Tune — "^//rtn fVaier.'' 

By Allan stream I chanc'd to rove, 
While Pb^bus sank below Benleddi ; * 

The winds were whisp'ring through the grova 
The yellow corn was waving ready : 

1 liyten'd to a lover's sang, 

And thought on youthfu' pleasures monie , 
And ay the wild- wood echoes rang — 

O, dearly do I love thee, A nnie ! 

O, happy be the woodbine bow'r, 
Nae nightly bogle make it eerie ; 

Nor ever sorrow stain the hour, 

The place and time 1 met my dearie ! 

lior head upon my throbbing breast, 

She, sinking, said, " I'm thine for ever ! " 

While monie a kiss the seal imprest. 
The sacred vow we ne'er should sever 

The haunt o' Spring's tlie primrose brae, 
The Summer joys the flocks to follow ; 

How cheery, tlirough her short'ning day, 
Is Autumn in her weeds o' yellow : 

* A rnounlain wesl of Sinilli-Alhui, :HlOO feel liit^ti. 



434 BURNS'S POEMB. 

But can they melt the glowing heart, 
Or chain the soul in speechless pleasure. 

Or thro' each nerve the rapture dart, 
Like meeting her, our bosom's treasure ' 



THE RIGS O' BARLEY 
Tune — " Com rigs are honv.^ 

It was upon a Lammas night. 

When corn rigs are bonie, 
Beneath the moons unclouded light, 

I held awa to Annie : 
The time flew by tentless hoed, 

Till 'tween the late and early, 
Wi' sma' pei-suasion she agreed 

To see me through the barley. 

The sky was blue, tlie wind Avas still 

The moon was shining clearly ; 
1 sat her down wi' right good will, 

Amang the rigs o' barley: 
I kent her heart was a' my ain ; 

I lov'd her most sincerely ; 
I kiss'd her owre and owre again, 

Amang the rigs o' barley! 

I lock'd her in my fond embrace, 
Her heart was beating rarely ; 

My blessings on that happy plaet 
Amang the rigs o' barley! 



BURNS'S POEMS. ***^ 



But, by the moon and stars so bright, 
That shone that hour so clearly; 

She ay shall bless that happy night, 
Amang the rigs o' barley! 

I hac been blithe wi' comrades dear' 

I hae been merry drinkin' ; 
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin' gear , 

I hae been happy thinkin': 
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw, 

Tho' three times doubled fairly. 
That happy night was worth them &*, 

Amang the rigs o' barley! 

CHORUS. 

Corn rigs, an' barley rigs. 

Corn rigs are bonie ; 
ril ne'er forget that happy night, 

Amang the rigs wi' Annie. 



THE LEA-RIG. 

When, o'er the hill, the eastern star 

Tells bughtin-time is near, my jo; 
And owsen frae the furrow'd field. 

Return sae dowf and weary, O ; 
Down by the burn, where scented birki 

Wi' dew are hanging clear, my jo, 
I'll meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O 
30* 



I2(^ BURNS'S POEMS. 

In mirkost glen, at midnight hour, 

I'd rove, and ne'er be eerie, O, 
If thro' that glen I gaed to tliee, 

My ain kind dearie, O. 
Altho' the night were ne'er sae vild, 

And I were ne'er sae wearie, O, 
I'd meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O. 



The hunter lo'es the morning sun, 

To rouse the mountain deer, my joj 
At noon the fisher seeks the glen, 

Along the burn to steer, my jo : 
Give me the hour o' gloamin' gray, 

It maks my heart sae cheerie, O, 
To meet thee on the lea-rig, 

My ain kind dearie, O. 



THE LASS OF BALLOCHMYLE. 

TwAS ev'n — the dewy fields were green, 

On ev'ry blade tlie pearls hang ; 
The zephyr wanton'd round the bean, 

And bore its fragrant sweets alang: 
In ev'ry glen the mavis sang, 

All nature list'ning seem'd the while, 
Except where greenwood echoes rang, 

Amang the braes o' Ballochmyie. 



BURNS'S POEMS. 427 

With careless step I onward stray'd. 

My heart rejoic'c' in nature's joy, 
When musing in a lonely glade, 

A maiden fair I chanc'd to spy : 
Her look was like the morning's eye, 

Her air like Nature's vernal smile, 
Perfection whisper'd, passing by, 

"Behold the lass o' Ballochmyle ! " 

Fair is the morn in flow'ry May, 

And sweet is night in Autumn mild, 
When roving thro' the garden gay, 

Or wand'ring in the lonely wild. 
But Woman, Nature's darling child ! 

There all her charms she does compile 
Ev'n tliere her other works are foil'd. 

By the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. 

O, had she been a country maid. 

And I the happy country swain, 
Tho' shelter'd in the lowest shed 

That ever rose in Scotland's plain! 
Thro' weary winter's wind and rain. 

With joy, with rapture, I would toil, 
And nightly to my bosom strain 

The bonie lass o' Ballochmyle! 

Then pride might climb the slipp'ry steep 

Where fame and honors lofty shine ; 
And thirst of gold might tempt the deep 

Or downward seek the Indian mine : 
Give me the cot be.ow the pine. 

To tend the flocks, or till the soil, 
And ev'ry day have joys divine, 

Wi' the bonie lass o' Ballochmyle. 



128 BURNS S POEMS. 



BONIE LESLEY. 

O SAW ye bonie Lesley, 

As she gaed o'er the border? 

She's gane, like Alexander, 
To spread her conquests farth«;. 

To see her is to love her, 
And love but her for ever; 

For Nature made her what she if. 
And ne'er made sic anither ! 

Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, 
Thy subjects we, before thee; 

Thou art divine, fair Lesley, 
The hearts o' men adore thee. 

The Beil he could na scaith thee, 
Or aught that wad belang thee; 

He'd look into thy bonie face. 
And say, " I canna wrang thee.** 

The Pow'rs aboon will tent thee; 

Misfortune sha' na steer thee; 
Thou'rt like themselves, sae lovely, 

That ill they'll ne'er let near the*. 

Return again, fair Lesley, 

Return to Caledonie! 
That we may brag we hae a lass 

There's nane again sae bonie. 



BV units S P0EM9. 



BONIE -EAN. 

There was a lass, and she waa fair. 

At kirk and market to be seen ; 
When a' the fairest maids were met. 

The fairest maid was bonie Jean. 

And ay she wrought her mammie's wark. 
And ay she sang sae merrilie; 

The blithest bird upon the bush 
Had ne'er a lighter heart than she. 

But hawks will rob the tender joys 
That bless the little lintwhite's neat ; 

And frost will blight the fairest flowers, 
And love will break the soundest rest 

Voung Robie was the brawest lad. 
The flow'r and pride of a' the glcii ; 

And he had owsen, sheep, and kyo. 
And wanton nagies nine or ten. 

He gaed wi' Jeanie to the trystc, 
He danc'd wi' Jeanie on the down ; 

And, lang ere witless Jeanie wist, 

Her heart was tint, her peace was sUfwa 

As, in the bosom o' the stream, 
The moonbeam dwells at dewy e>D, 

So, trembling, pure, was tender love, 
VV^tnin the breast o' boiiic Jean. 



130 B iSs's POEMS. 

And now she works her mammie's wark, 
And ay she sighs wi' care and pain ; 

Yet wist na wnat her ail might be, 
Or what wad mai^e lier weel again. 

But did na Jeanie's heart loup light, 
And did na joy blink in her e'e, 

As Robie tauld a tale o' love, 
An e'enin', on the lily lea ? 

The sun was sinking in the west. 
The birds sang Sweet in ilka grove: 

His cheek to hers he fondly prest 
And whisper'd thus his tale o' lov3: 

U Jeanie fair! I lo'e thee dear; 

O canst thou think to fancy me ? 
Or wilt thou leave thy inamniie'a cot, 

And learn to tent the faruw wi' me ? 

At barn or byre thou shalt na drudge, 
Or naetliing else to trouble tijce ; 

But stray amang the heather-bells, 
And tent the waving corn wi' uie 

Now what could artless Jenny do ? 

She had na will to say lain na 
At length she blush d a sweet consent, 

And love was ay between tlieui imL 



BURNS'S FdEHS. UU 



DAINTY DAVIE. 

Now rosy May comes in wi' flowers, 
To deck her gay, green-spreading bower*; 
And now comes in my happy hours, 
To wander wi' my Davie. • 

CHORUS. 

Meet me on the warlock knowe, 
Dainty Davie, jainty Davie ; 

There I'll spend the day wi' you. 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 

The crystal waters round us fa, 
The merry birds are lovers a'; 
The scented breezes round us blaw, 
A -wandering wi' my Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

Wncn purple morning starts the hare, 
To steal upon her early fare. 
Then thro' the dews I will repair, 
To meet my faithfu' Davie. 
Meet me, &c. 

When day, expiring in the west, 
The curtam draws o' Nature's rest, 
I dee to liis anus I lo'e best, 

And that's my ain dear Davia 



432 BURNS^S POEMS. 



Meet me on the warlock knowe, 
Bonie Davie, dainty Davie, 

There I'll spend the day wi' yo«i 
My ain dear dainty Davie. 



TO JEANIE. 
Air — "Cau/rf KaU:' 

Come, let me take thee to my brea«tj 
And pledge we ne'er shall sunder* 

And I shall spurn, as vilest dust, 
The warld's wealth and grandeur 

And do I hear my Jeanie own, 
That equal transports move her ? 

I ask for dearest life, alone, 
That I may live to love her. 

Thus in my arms, wi' all thy charraa, 
I clasp my countless treasure ; 

1 11 seek nae mair o' heaven to shi^ 
Than sic a moment's pleasure: 

And by thy een, sae bonie blue, 
I swear I'm thine for ever: 

And on thy lips I seal my vow, 
And break it shall I never. 



■URMS'S POEMS 4^8 



Cl.OiJDJ!iN kNOWES. 
TuwK—** Ca' the Yowes to the kiwweM.^ 



CHORUS. 

Ca' the yowes to the knowea, 
Ca' them whare the heather grawa, 
Ca' them whare the burnie rows. 
My bonie deane. 

Hark, the mavis' evening sang, 
Sounding Clouden's woods amang 
Then a-faulding let us gang. 
My bonie dearie. 

Ca' the, &c. 

We'll gae down by Clouden side. 

Thro' the hazels spreading wide, 

O'er the waves that sweetly glide 

To the moon sae clearly, 

Ca' the, &c. 

Yonder Clouden s silent tow'rs, 
Where at moonshine midnight hour*, 
O'er the dewy bending flowers, 
Fairies dance sae cheery. 
Ca' the, &c. 

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear; 
Thou'rt to love and heaven sae dear, 

37 



Vi4 BORNS S POEM*. 

Nocht of ill may come thee e«j 
My bonie dearie. 

Ca' tlie, &c. 

Fair and lovely as thou art, 
Thou hast stown my very heart » 
I can die — out canna part, 
My bonie dearie. 

Ca' the, &C. 



LOVELY NANCY. 
Tuz^E — "2Vi« quaker'a »V*-' 

TmriE am I, my faithful fair, 
Thine, my lovely Nancy ; 

Ev'ry pulse along my veins, 
Ev'ry roving fancy. 

To thy bosom lay my heart, 
There to throb and languish: 

Tho' despair had wrung its coi% 
That would heal its anguish. 

Take away those rosy lips, 
Rich with balmy treasure; 

Turn away thine eyes of love. 
Lest I die with pleasure. 

What is lift, when wanting love 
Night without a morning: 

Love's the cloudless summer eikf 
Nature's gay adornin|j. 



RtTRNS'iJ POEMS. i3i 



TO CHLORIS. 
Tone — " Mti lodging is on the j>ld ground^ 

My Chloris, mark how green the grove* 
The primrose-banks, how fair! 

The balmy gales awake the flowers, 
And wave thy flaxen hair. 

The lav'rock shuns the palace gay, 

And o'er the cottage singa; 
For nature smiles as sweet, I ween. 

To shepherds as to kings. 

Let minstrels sweep the skilfu' string 

In lordly lighted ha' ; 
The shepherd stops his simple reed, 

Blithe, in the birken shaw. 

The princely revel may survey 

Our rustic dance wi' scorn ; 
But are their hearts as light as oyja, 

Beneath the milk-white thorn ? 

The shepherd, in the flowery glen. 
In shepherd's phrase will woo; 

The courtier tells a finer tale, 
But is his heart as true? 

These wild-wood flowers, I've pu'd, to deck 

That spotless breast o' thine ; 
The courtier's gems may witness love — 

But 'tis na love like mine. 



436 BUiJNs's roKMs. 



LASSIE Wr THE LINTWHITE LOCKS. 
Tune — " Rolhemurche s Rant." 

CHORUS. 

Lassie wi' the lintwhite locks, 

Bonnie lassie, artless lassie, 
Wilt thou wi' me tent the flocks, 

Wilt thou be my dearie, O? 

Now nature deeds the flowery lea, 
And a' is young and sweet like thee; 
O wilt thou share its joys wi' me. 

And say thou'lt be my dearie, ? 
Lassie, ' &c. 

And when the welcome simmer shower 
Has cheer'd ilk drooping little flower. 
We'll to the breathing woodbine bower, 
At sultry noon, my dearie, O. 
Lassie, &c. 

When Cynthia lights, wi' silver ray 
The weary shearer's hameward way ; 
Thro' yellow waving fields we'll stray, 
And talk o' love, my dearie, O. 
Lassie, &c. 

And when the howling wintry blast 
Disturbs my lassie's midnight rest, 
Enclasped to my faithfu' breast, 
I'll comfort thee, my dearie, O. 
Lassie, &c. 



BURNS'S POEMS. 43"] 



CHLORIS. 

O BONiE was yon rosy brier, 

That blooms sae far frae. haunts o* man; 
And bonie she, and ah, how dear ! 

It shaded frae the e'nin' sun. 

Yon rose-buds in the morning dew, • 
How pure amang the leaves sae green ! 

But purer was the lover's vow 

They witness'd in their shade yestreen. 

All in its rude and prickly bower. 

That crimson rose how sweet and fair! 

But love is far a sweeter flov/er. 
Amid life's thorny path o' care. 

The pathless wild, and wimpling burn, 
Wi' Chloris in my arms, be mine ; 

And I the world, nor wish, nor scorn, 
Its joys and griefs alike resign. 



THE ROSE-BUD. 



A ROSE-BUD by my early walk, 
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, 
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, 
All on a dewy morning. 
37* 



tflB BDRNS'S POE3IS. 

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fied, 
In a* its crimson glory spread, 
And drooping rich the dewy head, 
It scents the early morning. 

Within the bush, her covert nest, 
A little linnet fondly prest; 
The dew sat chilly on her breast 
Sae early in the morning. 

She soon shall see her tender brood, 
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, 
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd, 
Awake tlie early morning. 

So thou, (icar bird, young Jenny fair, 
On trembling string or vocal air. 
Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
That tents tliy early morning. 

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay, 
Shall beauteous blaze upon the day, 
And bless the parent's evening ray 
That watch'd thy early morning. 



THE BIRKS OF ABERFELDY. 



Bowir lassie, \vi\l ye go, will ye go, will ye go, 
Bonie lassie, will ye go to the birVs of Aberfeldy? 



BDRNS'8 POEH8. 4JS 

Now simmer blinks on flow'ry braes, 
And o'er tlie crystal streamlet plays, 
Conre, let us spend the lightsome days 
In tiie birks of Aberfeldy 

Bonie lassie, &c. 

While o'er their heads the hazels hing 
The little birdies blithely sing, 
Dr lightly flit, on wanton wing, 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassie, &.c. 

The braes ascend like lofly wa's, 
The foaming stream deep-roaring fa's, 
O'erhung wi' fragrant, spreading shawa, 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassie, 6i-c. 

The hoary cliffs are crown'd wi' flow'ra, 
While o'er the liniis the burnie pours. 
And, rising, weots, wi' misty show'rs, 
The birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassie, &-c. 

Let Fortune's gifts at random flee. 
They ne'er shall d^aw a wish frae me, 
Supremely blest wi' love and thee, 
In the birks of Aberfeldy. 

Bonie lassie, &.c 



440 BURNS S PO£MB. 



THIS IS NO MY AIN LASSIE. 
Tune — " This is no my ain Houst.^ 

CHORDS. 

O THIS is no my ain lassie, 
Fair tho' the lassie be ; 

O weel ken I my ain lassie, 
Kind love is in her e'e. 

1 see a form, I see a face, 
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place> 
It wants, to me, the witching grace, 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this, &c. 

She's bonie, blooming, straight and tali, 
And lang has had my heart in thrall; 
And ay it charms my very saiil. 
The kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this, &c. 

A thief sae pawkie is my Jean, 
To steal a blink by a' unseen ; 
But gleg as light are lovers' een, 
Wiien kind love is in the e'e. 
O this, &c. 

It may escape the courtly sparks. 
It may escape the learned clerks ; 
But weel the watching lover marks 
Tho kind love that's in her e'e. 
O this, &c 



HURNS S POEMS. 44l 



CONSTANCY. 

Tune— "JWy love is lost to me." 

O, WERE I on Parnassus' hill! 
Or had of Helicon my fill ; 
That I might catch poetic skill, 
To sing how dear I love thee. 

But Nith maun be my Muse's well, 
My Muse maun be thy bonie seP: 
On Corsincon I'll glow'r and spell, 
And write how dear I love thee. 

Then come, sweet Muse, inspire my xavl 
For a' the lee-lang simmer's day, 
I could na sing, I could na say 

How much, how dear 1 love thee 

1 see thee dancmg o'er the green, 
Thy waist sae jimp, thy limbs sae c^etw 
Thy tempting lips, thy roguish een — 
By heaven and earth, I love thse! 



By night, by day, a-field. at hame. 
The thoughtf} o' thee my breast inflame ? 
And ay I miise and sing thy name, 
I only li^e to love tJiee. 



442 BUR.XS'S POEMS. 

Though I were doom'd to wander on, 
Beyond the sea, beyond the sun, 
Till my last weary sand was run ; 
Till then — and then I iove thee. 



PEGGY'S CHARMS. 
Tone — "jV. 0010*$ Lamentation for Aheraxit-ny/ 

Where braving angry winter's storms, 

TJie lofty Ochels rise, 
Far in their shade my Peggy's chanus. 

First blest my wondering eyes ; 
As one who by some savage steam, 

A lonely gem surveys, 
Aatonish'd, doubly marks its beam, 

With art's most polish'd blaze. 

Blest be the wild sequestor'd shade, 

And blest the day and hour. 
Where Peggy's charms I first survey*df 

When first I ?e\i their power! 
The tyrant Death, with grim contToJ, 

May seize my fleeting breath : 
But tearing Peggy from my soft! 

Must be a stroDger death 



•CRNS'S POEUS. 



JESSY. 
Tvwt — - " Here^a a health to them thaVi oi«i, himy^ 

CHORCnS. 

ifERE's a health to ane I lo'e dear, 

Here's a iiealth to ane I lo'e dear ; 

Thou art sweet as the smile when fond lovers inee^ 

And soft as their parting tear — Jessy! 

Altho' thou maun never be mine, 

Altho' even hope is denied ; 
'Tis sweeter for thee despairinj^, 

Than aught in the world beside — Jessy! 
Here's &c. 

I mourn thro' tiie g;iy, gaudy day, 
. As hopeless I muse on thy charms ; 

But welcome tliC dream o' sweet slumber, 
For then 1 am lock'd in thy arms — Jnaey. 
Here's &-c. 

I g^ess by tlie dear angel smile, 

I guess by the love-rolling e'e; 
But why urge the tender confession, 

'Gainst fortune's fel', cruel decree-- Jessy c 
Here's &c. 



BuRNii'S POEM! 



THE BLUE-EYED LASSIE. 

I eAED a waefu' gate, yestreen, 

A gate, I fear, I'll dearly rue : 
I gat my death frae twa sweet een, 

Twa lovely een o' bonie blue. 
Twas not her golden ringlets bright, 

Her lips like roses wat wi' dew. 
Her heaving bosom, lily white : 

It was her een sae bonie blue. 

She talk'd, she smil'd, my heart she wylV 

She charm'd my soul, I wist na how ; 
And ay the stound, the deadly wound. 

Cam frae her een sae bonie blue. 
But spare to speak, and spare to speed ; 

She'll aiblins listen to my vow : 
Should she refuse, I'll lay my dead 

To her twa een sae bonie blue. 



WILT THOU BE MY DEARIR? 

Wilt thou be my dearie? 

When sorrow wrings thy gentle heart- 
O wilt thou let me cheer thee ? 

By the treasure of my sou.', 
And that's the love I bear thee ! 



BURNS'S POEMS. 

I swear and vow that only thou 
Shall ever be my dearie. 

Only thou, I swear ana vow, 
Shall ever be my dearie. 

Lassie, say thou lo'es me ; 

Or, if thou wilt na be my ain, 
Say na thou'lt refuse me: 

If it winna, canna be, 
Thou for thine may choose me, 

Let me, lassie, quickly die, 
Trusting that thou lo'os me : 

Lassie, let me quickly die. 
Trusting that thou lo'ea mCi 



THE BLISSFUL DAY 
Tune — " Seventh of JVovember.^ 

The day returns, my bosom burns, 

The blissful day we twa did meet, 
Tho' winter wild in tempest toil'd, 

Ne'er summer sun was half sae sweet 
Than a' the pride that loads the tide. 

And crosses o'er the sultry line ; 
Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, 

Heaven gave me more — it made thee mine 

While day and night can bring delight, 
Or nature aught of pleasure give ; 

'Vhile joys above, my mind can move, 
For thee, and tliee alone, 1 live! 
38 



446 BDRNS'S POEMS. 

When tliat grim foe of life below 
Comes in between to make ui part ; 

The iron hand that breaks our band, 
It breaks my bliss — it breaks ray heart 



LOVELY JEAN 
Tdne — *^ Miss Admiral Gordon^s Strathspey 

Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 

I dearly like the west; 
For there the bonie lassie lives, 

The lassie I lo'e best 
There wild woods grow, and rivers row 

And monie a hill between ; 
But, day and night, my fancy's flight 

Is ever wi' my Jean. 

I see her in the dewy flowers, 

I see her sweet and fair; 
1 hear her in the tunefu' birds^ 

I hear her charm the air: 
Tnere's not a bonie flower that spring* 

By fountain, shaw, or green; 
There's not a baaie bird that sings. 

But minds me o' my Jean. 



BUB.NS S POEIttS. 



w 



LUCY. 

O WAT ye wha's in yon town 
Ye see the e*enin' sun upon? 

The fairest darae is in yon town, 
The e'enin' sun is shining on. 

Now haply down yon gay, green shaw, 
She wanders by yon spreading tree; 

How bLest ye flow'rs that round her blaw. 
Ye catch the glances o' her e'e. 

How blest ye birds that round her sing, 
And welcome in the blooming year; 

And doubly welcome be the spring, 
The season to my Lucy dear. 

The sun blinks blithe on yon town. 
And on yon bonie braes of Ayr; 

But my delight in yon town, 
And dearest bliss, is Lucy fair. 

Without my love, not a' the charm« 
O' Paradise could yield me jo> , 

But gie me Lucy in my arms, 
And welcome Lapland's dreary sky! 

My cave wad be a lover's bow'r, 
Tho' raging winter rent the air 

And she a lovely little flow'r, 
That I wad tert and shelter there 



J"Jb bURiNS'S POEMS. 

O, sweet is she in yon town, 

Yon sinking sun's gaen down upon; 

A fairer than is in yon town, 
His setting beams ne'er shone upon. 

ff pjigry fate is sworn my foe, 
And suffering I am doom'd to bear, 

I careless quit all else below, 

But spare me, spare me, Lucy dear 

Fcr while life's dearest blood is wann, 
Ae thought frae her shall ne'er depart | 

And she — as fairest is her form, 
She has the truest, kindest heart. 



BLITHE PHEMIE 

CHORUS. 

Blithe, blithe and merry was sh^, 
Blithe by the banks of Em; 

And blithe was she but an' ben, 
And blithe in Glenturit glen. 

By Oughtertyre grows the aik, 
On Yarrow banks the birken shaw 

But Phemie was a bonier lass 
Than Draes o' Yarrow ever saw 
Blithe, &c. 



BDRNS*S POEMS. 44» 

Her looks were like a flower in May, 
Her smile was like a sinimer morn; 

She tripped by the banks of Ern, 
As light's a bird upon a thorn. 
Blithe, &.C. 

Her bonie face it was as meek 

A3 onie lamb upon a lea; 
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet. 

As was tlie blink o' Phemie's e'e. 
Blithe, &LC. 

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide. 
And o'er the Lowlands I hae been ; 

But Phemie was the blithest lass 
That ever trod the dewy green. 
Blithe, &c. 



CHARMING NANNIE. 

Behind yon hills where Lugar flown, 
'Mang moors and mosses many, O, 

The wintry sun the day has clos'd. 
And I'll awa to Nannie, O. 

The vestlin wind blaws hmd an' shrilly 
The night's baith murk and rainy, O 

But I'll get my plaid, an' out I'll steal 
An* owre the hills to Nannie, O. 

38* 



|5U BURNS'S POEMS. 

My Nannie's charming, sweet, an youtg 
Nae artfu' wiles to win ye, O; 

May ill befa' the flatterin^r tongue 
That Avad beguile my Nannie, O. 

Her face is fair, her heart is true, 
As spotless as she's bonie, O ; 

The op'ning gowan, wet wi' dew 
Nae purer is than Nannie, O. 

A country lad is my degree. 

An' few there be that ken me, O ; 

But what care I how few they be, 
I'm welcome ay to Nannie, O 

My riches a' 's my penny-fee, 
An' I maun guide it cannie, O; 

But warl's gear ne'er trouble me. 
My thoughts are a' my Nannie, O. 

Our auld guidman delights to view 
His sheep an' kye thrive bonie, O; 

But Fm as blithe that bauds his pleugh, 
An' has nae care but Nannie, O. 

Come weal, come wo, I care na by 
I'll tak what heaven will sen' me, O 

Nae ither care in life have I, 
But live an' hjve my Nannie, O 



BURNS 8 POEMS. 451 



GREEN GROW THE RASHEa 

A FRAGMENT. 
CHORUS. 

Green grow the rashes, O ! 

Green grow the rashes, O ! 
The sweetest hours that e'er I spent, 

Are spent amang the lasses, O ! 

There's nought but care on ev'ry han* 
In ev'ry hour that passes, O ; 

What signifies the life o' man, 
An' twere na for the lasses, O? 
Green grow, &c. 

The warly race may riches chase, 
An' riches still may fly thein, O ; 

An' tho' at last they catch them fast, 
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O 
Green grow, &c. 

But gie me a cannie hour at e'en, 
My arms about my dearie, O ; 

An' warly cares, an' warly men, 
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O. 
Green grow, &c. 

For you sae douse, ye sneer at this. 

Ye're nought but senseless asses, C 
The wfsest man the warl' e'er saw. 



452 burns'^ poems. 

He dearly lov'd the lasses, O. 
•Green grow, &.c. 

Auld Nature swears the lovely deare 
Her noblest work she classes, O ; 

Her 'prentice han' she tried on man. 
An' then she made the lasses, O 
Green grow, &c. 



THE HIGHLAND LASSIE. 

N4E gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair, 
Shall ever be my Muse's care; 
Their titles a' are empty show, 
Git. n.e my tiighland lassie, O. 



Within ti.e glen sae bushy, O, 
Aboon the piam sae rushy, O, 
I set me down wi' right good will^ 
To sing my Hignland lassie, O. 

Oh, wore yon hill and vallies mine, 
Yon palace and yon gardens fine ! 
The world then the love should know 
I bear my Highland lassie, O. 

Within. &c. 

But fickle fortune frowns on me, 
And I maun cross the raging sea; 



BURNS'S POEMS. 453 

But while tlie crimson cunenta flow, 
m love my Highland lassie, O. 

Witliin, &c. 

Altho' thro foreign climes I range, 
I know her heart will never change ; 
For her bosom burns with honor's glow, 
My faithful Highland lassie, O. 

Within, &c. 

For her I'll dare the billows' roar. 
For her Pll trace a distant shore. 
That Indian wealth may lustre throw 
Around my Highland lassie, O. 

Within, ifcc. 

She has my heart, she has my hand. 
By sacred truth and honor's band ; 
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low 
I'm thine, my Highland lassie, O. 

Farewell the glen sae bushy, O 
Farewell the }»iam sae rushy, O, 
To other lands 1 now must go, 
To smg my Highland iassie, O 



i54 BURNS'S POEMS. 



ANNA. 
Tune — "Banks of BaiuL^ 

Vestreen I had a pint o' wine, 
A place where body saw na; 

Yestreen lay on this breast of rains 
The raven locks of Anna. 

The hungry Jew, in wilderness, 

Rejoicing o'er his manna. 
Was naething to my honey bliaa 

Upon tJie lips of Anna. 

Ye monarchs, take tiie east and weiC, 

Frae Indus to Savannali ; 
Gie me within my straining grasp 

The melting form of Anna. 

Then I'll despise imperial charms, 

An empress or sultana ; 
While dying raptures, in her anna, 

I give and take \vith Anna. 

Awa, thou flaunting god of day . 
Awa, thou pale Diana! 
k star gae hide thy twinkling ray 
When I'm to meet my Anna. 



fflk 



Come, in thy raven plumage, Night! 

Sun, moon, and stars, withdraw a'' 
And bring an angel-pen to write 

My transports wi' my Anna! 



BURNS'S POEMS. 



45k 



THE SPINNING-WHEEI* 

O LEEZE me on my spinning- wheel, 
O leeze me on my rock and reel; 
Frae tap to tae that deeds me bien, 
And haps me fiel and warm at e'en! 
I'll sit me down and sing and spin^ 
While laigh descends the simnTier sm; 
Blest wi' content, and milk and meal — 
O leeze me on my spinning-wheel. 

On ilka hand the burnies trot, 
\r\d meet below my theekit cot; 
The scented birk and hawthorn while 
^cross the pool tlieir arms unite, 
\like to screen the bu-die's nest, 
Vnd little fishes' caller rest; 
I'lie sun blinks kindly in the biel, 
Vhere blithe I turn my spinning-wheel 

^ »n lofty aiks the cushats wail, 
\nd echo cons tlie dolefu' talc; 
The lintwhites, in the hazel braes, 
delighted, rival ither's lays: 
Che craik, amang the claver hay, 
The paitrick, whirrin' o'er the ley, 
The swallow, jinkin' round my shiel, 
Amuse me at my spinning-wheel. 

>\^i' sma' to sell, and less to buy, 
Aboon distress, below envy, 



156 BUR.NS'S POEMS. 

O wha wad leave this humble statfe^ 
For a' the pride of a' the great ? 
Amid their flaring, idle toys, 
Amid their cumbrous, dinsome joys, 
Can they the peace and pieasuie feel 
Of Bessy at her spinning-wheel ? 



THE COUNTRY LASSIK 

is simmer, when the hay was mawn, 

And corn wav'd green in ilka field, 
While claver blooms white o'er the lea, 

And roses blaw in ilka bield ; 
Blithe Bessie in the milking shiel, 

Says, I'll be wed, come o't what wi 1; 
Out spak a dame in wrinkled eild, 

O' guid advisement comes nae ill. 

Its ye nae wooers monie ane. 

And lassie, ye're but young, ye keL 
Then wait a wee, and cannie wale, 

A routhie butt, a routhie ben ; 
There's Johnnie, o' the Buskie glea, 

Fu' is his barn, fu' is his byre ; 
Tak this frae me, my bonie hen, 

It's plenty beets the lu\9r'8 fire. 

For Johnnie, o' the Buskie-glen, 

I dinna care a single flie : 
He lo*<ss sae weel his craps and kye, 

He has no luve to sparo for me 



BURJVS'S POEMS. 453 

But blithe's the blink o' Ruble's e'e, 
And wee] I wat he lo'es me dear; 

Ae blink o' him I wad nae gie 
For Buskie-glen and a' his gear. 

O thoughtless lassie ! life's a faught ; 
• The canniest gate, the strife is sair; 
But ay fu' han't is fechtin best, 

A hungry care's an unco care : 
But some will spend, and some will spam 

An' willfu' folk maun hae their will ; 
Syne as ye brew, my maiden fair, 

Keep mind that ye maun drink the yilL 

« 
O, gear will buy me rigs o' land, 

And gear will buy me sheep and kye 
But the tender heart o' leesome love 

The gowd and siller canna buy: 
We may be poor — Robie and I, 

Light is the burden love lays on: 
Content and luve brings peace and joy — 

What mair hae queens upon a throDO? 



TAM GLEN. 



Mt heart is a breaKmg, dear Tittie, 
Some counsel unto me come len' ; 

To anger them a' is a pity, 
But what will I do wi' Tarn Glen? 
39 



458 BUR.NS'S POEMS. 

I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow, 
In poortith I might make a fen*; 

What care I in riches to wallow. 
If I maun marry Tam Glen r 



" Guid day to you, brute," he comes bei 
He brags an' he blaw o' his siller, 

But when will he dance like Tam Glen ? 

My minnie does constantly deave me, 
And bids me beware o' young men ; 

They flatter, she says, to deceive me ; 
But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen? 

My daddie says, gin I'll forsake him, 
He'll gie me guid hunder marks ten ; 

But if it's ordain'd I maun tak him, 
O wha will I get but Tam Glen? 

Yestreen, at the Valentine's dealing, 
My heart to my mou gied a sten; 

For thrice I drew ane without failing, 
And thrice it was written Tam Glen. 

The last Halloween I was waukin 
My droukit sark-sleeve, as ye ken; 

His likeness cam up the house staukin, 
In the very gray b reeks o' Tam Glen 

Some counsel, dear Tittie, don't tarry, 
I'll gie ye my bonie black hen, 

Gif ye will advise me to marry 
The lad I lo'e dearly Tam Glen 



BURNS'S POEMS. 45ft 



SOMEBODY. 

Mr heart is sair, I dare na tell, 
My heart is sair for somebody 
I could wake a winter night, 
For the sake o' somebody 
0-hon! for somebody! 
O-hey ! for somebody ! 
I could range the world around, 
For the sake o' somebody. 

Ye powers that smile on virtuous loves, 

O sweetly smile on somebody I 
Frae ilka danger keep him free. 
And send me safe my somebody^ 
Oh-hon ! for somebody ! 
Oh-hey ! for somebody ! 
I wad do — what wad I not ? — 
For the sake o' somebody ! 



O WHISTLE, &c. 



CHORUS. 



G THISTLE, and I'll come to you, my lad ; 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my iad ; 
Tbo' father, and mither, and a' should go rn%d, 
O whistle, and I'll come to you, my lad. 



160 BURNS'S POEMS. 

But warily tent, when ye come to court me, 
And come na unless the back-yett be a-jee , 
Syne up the back-stile, and let naebody see, 
And come as ye were na comin' to me. 
And come, &c. 

O whistle, &c. 

At kirk, or at market, whene'er ye meet me. 
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd na a flie : 
But steal me a blink o' your bonie black e'e, 
Yet look as ye were na lookin' at me. 
Vet look, &c. 

O whistle, &.C. 

Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me, 
And whyles ye may lightly my beauty a wee; 
But court na anither, tho' jokin' ye be, 
For fear that she wyle your fancy frae me. 
F^T f(ft.r, &c. 

O whistle, &c 



ANE-AND-TWENTY. 
Tune — " The Moudkwort: 



An' O for ane-and-twenty, Tam ! 

An' hey, sweet ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
I'll learn my kin a rattlin' sang, 

An' I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam ' 



BURtVS^S POEMS. 40*1 

They snool me sair, and haud me down, 
And gar me look like bluntie, Tarn ! 

But three short years will soon wheel roun 
And tlien conies ane-and-twenty, Tam. 
An' O, &.C 

A gleib o' Ian', a claut o' gear. 

Was left me by my auntie, Tarn' 
At kith or kin I need na spier, 

An' I saw ane-and-twenty, Tam. 

An' O, &c. 

They'll hae me wed a wealthy coof, 

Tho' I mysel' hae plenty, Tam! 
But hear'st tliou, laddie, there's my loof, 

I'm thine at ane-and-twenty, Tam, 

An' O, &c 



THE YOUNG LASSIE. 

What can a young lassie^ what shall a young lassis 
What can a young lassie do wi' an auld man ? 

Bad luck on the pennie that tempted my minnie 
To sell her poor Jennie for siller an' Ian'* 
Bad luck on the penny, &c. 

He's always compleenin' frae mornin' to e'enin', 
He hosts and he hirples the weary day lang ; 

He's doylt and he's dozin', his bluid it is frozen. 
O dreary's the night wi' a crazy auld man' 



162 BURNS'S POEMS. 

He hums and he hankers, he frets and he caikert 
I never can please him, do a' that I can ; 

He's peexish and jealous of a' the young fellows 
(), doo. on the day I met wi' an auld man! 

M> auld auntie Katie upon me taks pity ; 

VL do my endeavor to follow her plan* 
f'll cross him, and wrack him, until I heart-break iwm. 

And then his auld brass will buy me a new pan. 



THE MERCENARY LOVER. 

Tune — " Balinamona Ora," 

AwA wi' your witchcraft o' beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms; 
O gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 



Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher, then hey for a Imi 

wi' a tocher, 
Then hey for a lass wi' a tocher — the nice yc3tw 

guineas for me, 

Vou.r beauty's a flower, in the morning that blows, 
And withers the faster, the faster it grows ; 
But the rapturous charm o' the bonie green knowes, 
Ilk sDring they're new deckit wi' bonie white yowes, 
Then hey, &.c. 



BURJ!VS^S rOEMS. tvT* 

And een wAen this beauty your bosom has bkst, 
riie bri ^htest o' beauty may cloy when possest ! 
But the sweet yellow darlings wi' Geordie inlpre8t^ 
Thfi larger ye hae them; the mair they're carestj 
Then hey, &c 



MEG O' THE MILL. 

Air — " O bonie lass, vAU you lie in a harrack t " 

O KEN ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
An' ken ye what Meg o' the Mill has gotten ? 
She has gotten a coof wi' a claut o' siller, 
And broken the heart o' the barley Miller, 

The Miller was strappan, the Miller was ruddy ' 
A heart like a lord, and a hue like a lady ; 
The laird was a widdiefu' bleerit knurl : 
She's left the guid fellow, and taen the churl. 

The Miller he hecht her a heart leal and loving; 
The laird did address her wi' matter mair mov ng 
A fine pacing horse, wi' a clear chained bridle 
A whip by her side, and a bonie side-saddle 

O wae on the siller, it is sae prevailmg ; 
A 1x1 wae on the love that is fix'd on a mailen 
A tocher's nae word in a tnie lover's parle, 
But, gie me my kwe, anc^ a fig for tlie wai 



iCA BURjys's POEMS. 



MY TOCHER'S THE JEWEL. 

O MEiKLE thinks my luve o' my beauty, 

And meikle thinks my luve o' my kin; 
But little thinks my luve I ken brawlie, 

My tocher's the jewel has charms for him. 
I's a' for the apple he'll nourish the tree, 

It's a' for the hiney he'll cherish the bee ; 
My laddie's sae meikle in luve wi' the siller. 

He canna liae luve to spare for me. 

Your proffer o' luve's an airl-penny. 

My tocher's the bargain ye wad buy ; 
But an' ye be crafty, I am cunnin', 

Sae ye wi' anither your fortune maun try. 
Ye're like to the timmer o' yon rotten wood, 

Ye're like to the bark o' yon rotten tree ; 
Ve'U slip frae me like a knotless thread, 

And ye'll crack your credit wi' mae nor ine. 



AULD ROB MORRIS. 

TntRE'fc auld Rob Morris, that wens in yon ghm, 
He's the king o' guid fellows, and wale of auld men 
He has gowd in his coffers, he has owsen and kine, 
^nd ae bonie lassie, his darl ng and mine. 



BURNS'S POEMS. 46ft 

Sliu's fresh j.s the morning, the fairest ?ji May, 
She's sweet as Uie evefting amang the new hay; 
Vs blithe and as artless as the lambs on the lea. 
And dear to my heart as the light to my e'e. 

Put oh! she's an heiress — auld Robin's a laird, 
And my daddie has nought but a cot-house and yard 
A wooer like me mauna hope to come speed, 
? he wounds I must hide tiiat will soon be my dead. 

"V*e day comes to me, but delight brings me naiie ; 
TV night comes to me, but my rest it is gane; 
I r-ander my lane like a night-troubled ghaist, 
Ard I sigh as my heart it wad burst in my breast 

ha,\ 'h^ but been of lower degree, 

1 liien m'ght hae hop'd she wad smil'd upon »ne ; 
O, how pas-t .-^escribing had then been my bliss, 
4s now mv .-^iF^TF "-tion no words can express. 



TO TTEBIE 
TuNij — " InvercaliTi. B'a'** 



O Tib HIE, I hae seen the dav- 
Ye would nae been sae shy 

Tor iaik o' gear ye lightly m« 
But trowth I care na by. 



IG6 BORNS'S POEMS. 

^feeireen I met you on the moor; 

Ye spak na, but gaed oy like stoure; 
Ye geek at me because Pm poor, 

But fient a hair care I. 

O Tibbie, &c. 

I doubt na, lass, but ye may think 
Because ye hae the name o' clink, 

That ye can please me at a wink. 
Whene'er ye like to try. 

O Tibbie, &c. 

But sorrow tak him that's sae mean, 
AUho' his pouch o' coin were clean, 

Wha follows any saucy quean 
That looks sae proud and higli. 
O Tibbie, &c. 

Altho' a lad were e'er sae smart, 
If that he want the yellow dirt, 

Ye'll cast your head anither airt, 
And answer him fu' dry. 

O Tibbie, &c. 

But if he hae the name o' gear, 
Ye'll fasten to him like a brier, 

Tho' hardly he, for sense or lear, 
Be better than the kye. 

O Tibbie, &c 

But Tibbie, lass, tak my advice, 

Your daddie's gear maks you sae iuc«^ 

The deil a one wad spier your price, 
Were ye as pooi as I. 

O Tibbie. &c 



BURiVs's POEMS. 407 

There lives a lass in yonder park, 

I wad nae gi^ her in her sark. 
For tliee wi' a' tliy thousand mark: 

\e needna look sae high. 

O Tibbie, &c. 



DUNCAN GRAY. 

DuNCAi* Gray came here to woo, 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't, 
On blithe yule night when we were fii ; 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't 

Maggie coost her head fu' high, 

Look'd asklent and unco skeigh, 

Gart poor Duncan stand abeigh: 

Ha, ha, the wooing o't 

Duncan fleech'd and Duncan pray*d 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Meg was deaf as Ailsa craig : 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Duncan sigh'd baith out and in, 
Grat his een baith bleer't and blm', 
Spak o' louping o'er a linn : 

Ha, ha, &C. 

Tmie and chance are but a tide • 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Slighted love is sair ta bide : 

Ha, ha, &c. 



BCRNS'S POEMS. 

Shall I, like a fool, quoth be. 
For a haughty hizzie die ? 
She may go — to France for me . 
Ha, ha, &c. 

How it comes let doctors teii, 

Ha, ha, &,c. 
Meg grew sick — as he grow well, 

Ha, ha, &-c. 
Something in her bosom wrings ; 
For relief a sigh she brings ; 
And O, her een, they spok sic thing* 

Ha, ha, «Sz.c. 

Duncan was a lad o' grace, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Maggie's was a piteous case, 

Ha, ha, &c. 
Duncan could na be her death, 
Swelling pity smoor'd his wratli; 
Now they're crouse and cantie baith ; 

Ha, ha, &.c. 



THE BRAW WOOER. 

Tune — "r/!« Lothian Lnssisy 

Ua.%\ May a braw wooer cam down tl'ie lang glen, 
Anil sair wi' his love he did deav? me! 
Baid there was naething I hated ]ike men; 
The deuce gae wi'ni to believe n*e, believe me, 
The deu2e gae wi'm, to believe nie. 



BURNS S POEMS. i||^ 

He spak o' the darts in my bonie black een, 
And vow'd for my love he was dying ; 

I said he min-ht die when he liked, for Jean; 
The Lord fortrie me for lying, for lying, 
Tlie Lord forgie me for lying. 

A well stocked mailen, himseP for the iaird, 
And marriage aff-hand, were his proffers; 

I never loot on tliat I kenn'd it, or car'd, 
But thought I might hae waur offers, waur offen. 
But thought I might hae waur offers. 

But what wad ye think ? in a fortnight or less, 
The deil tak his taste to gae near her ! 

He up the lang loan, to my black cousin Bess, 
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her, could hex 

her, 
Guess ye how, the jad ! I could bear her. 

But a' the niest week, as I fretted wi' care, 

I gaed to the tryste o' Dalgarnock ; 
And wha but my fine, fickle lover was there ! 

[ glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock, a warlock, 

I glowr'd as I'd seen a warlock. 

But owie my left shouther I gaed him a blink, 

Lest neebors might say I was saucy ; 
My wooer he caper'd as he'd been in drink, 

And vow'd I was his dear lassie, dear lassie, 

And vow'd I was hia dear lassie. 

I spier'd for my cousin, fu' couthie and sweet, 

Gin she had recover'd her hearin', 
And how her new shoon fit her auld shackl't feet? 

4q" 



470 BURNS S POKMS. 

But, heavens ! how he fell «i-swearin', a-swearia 
But, heavens ! how he fell a-swearin'. 

He hegg'd, for Gude-sake ! I wad be his wife, 
Or else I wad kill him wi' sorrow: 

So, e'en to preserve the p&or body in life, 
] think I maun wed hirn to-morrow, to-morrow 
I (hiak I mauD wed him to-morrow. 



WILLIE'S WIFE. 

Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed, 
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie ; 

Willie was a wabster guid, 

Cou'd stown a clue wi' onie bodie: 

He had a wife was dour and din, 
O Tinkler Madsrie was her mother. 



Sic a wife as Willie had! 
I wad na gie a button for her. 



The cat has twa the very color; 
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump, 

A clapper-tongue wad deave a miller} 
A whiskin' beard about her mou, 

Her nose and chin they threaten iiher 
Sic a wife, dtc 



BURNS'S POEMS. */! 

She's bough-hough'd, she's hoin sliinn't*, 
Ae liiiipin' leg, a hand-breed shorter • 

She's twisted right, she's twisted lell, 
To balance fair in ilka quarter: 

She has a hump upon iier breast, 
The twin o' that upon her shouther. 
Sic a wife, &c. 

Auld baudron by the ingle sits. 

And wi' her loof her face a-washin'; 

But Willie's wife is nae sae trig, 

She dights her grunzie wi' a hushion 

Her walie nieves, like midden-creels, 
Her face wad fyle the Logan-water. 
Sic a wife, &c 



A PECK O' MAUT. 

G -^/iiLiE brew'd a peck o* maut, 
Aui Rob and Allen cam to see , 

Three 'ilither hearts, that lee-Iang night. 
Ye vi } na find in Christendie. 



We ar^ iia fou, we're ija tl^at fou, 
5ut j«tft a drappie in our e'e ; 

The cocl may craw, the day may daw, 
And a} we'll taste the barley bree 

Here are wvv niet, three merry boys, 
Three mei y boys, I trow^ are W§' 



i72 BURNS S POEMS. 

And monie a night we've merry been. 
And monie mae we hope to be 

We are, &c 

It is the moon, I ken her horn, 
That's blinkin' in the lift sae hie ; 

She shines sae bright to wylc us hame, 
But, by my sooth, she'll wait a wee ' 
We are, &.c. 

W la first shall rise to gang awa, 
A cuckold, coward loun is he ! 

Wha last beside the chair shall fa', 
He is the king amang us three 

We are, &c. 



THE LAWIN. 

Gane is the day and mirk's the night. 
But we'll ne'er stray for foute o' light; 
For ale and brandy's stars and moon, 
And bluid-red wine's the rising sun. 



Then, guidwife, count the lawin, the lawin, the 

lawin ; 
Vh€Ti guidwife, count the lawin, and bring a coggia 

mair. 

There's wealth and ease for gentlemen. 
And semple folk maiin fecht and fen' • 



BUKNS'S POEMS. 

But here we're a in ae accord, 
For ilka man that's drunk's a lord. 

Then, guidwife, &.C 

My cogg-ie is a haly pool, 

That heals the wounds o' care and dod 

And pleasu.-e is a wanton trout. 

An' ye drink it a' ye'll find him out 

Then, guidwife, &.C 



473 



HONEST POVERTY. 

Is there for honest poverty. 

That hangs his head, and a' that? 
The coward slave we pass him by, 

We dare be poor for a' that! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Our toil's obscure, and a' that. 
The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 

The man's the gowd for a' that 



What tho' on hamely fare we dine. 

Wear hoddin gray, and a' that? 
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wia«, 

A man's a man for a' that ; 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their tinsel show and a' that: 
The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor, 

k king o' men for a' that 
40* 



174 BURNS'S POEMS. 

Ve see yon birkie, cad a lord, 

Wha struts, and stares, and a' thai 
The* hundreds worship at his word, 

He's but a coof for a' that* 
For a' that, and a' that, 

His ribbon, star, and a' that. 
The man of independent mind. 

He looks and laughs at a' that 

A prince can mak a belted knight, 

A marquis, duke, and a' that; 
But an honest man's aboon his might; 

Guid faith, he mauna fa' that! 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Their dignities and a' that. 
The pith o' sense and pride o' worth. 

Are higher ranks than a' that 

Then let us pray that come it may, 

As come it will for a' that, 
That sense and worth, o'er a' the eaitk 

May bear the gree, and a' thai 
For a' that, and a' that. 

Its coming yet, for a' that, 
That man to man, the world o*er 

Shall brothers be for &' that 



BURNS'S POEMS. 47ft 



THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR, 

■ ETW££N THE DUKE OF >iR6TLE AfTD THE EAR& 
OF HAB. 

*0 CAM ye here the fight to shun, 

Or herd the sheep wi* me, man? 
Or were ye at the Sherra-muir, 

And did the battle see, man?" 
I saw the battle sair and tough, 
And reeking red ran many a sheugh ; 
My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough, 
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds, 
O' clans frae woods in tartan duds, 

Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man. 

The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades. 

To meet them were na slaw, man ; 
They rusii'd, and push'd, and bluid outgiishM, 

And monie a bouk did fa' man; 
The great Argylo led on his files, 
I wat they glanced twenty miles ; 
They hack'd and hash'd, while broadswords clash ^ 
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, 

Till fey men died awa, man. 

But had you seen the Phillibegs, 

And skyrin tartan trews, man. 
When in the teeth they dar'd our whigt, 

And covenant true blues, man ; 
In lines extended lang and large. 
When Dayonets opoos'd the targe. 



476 BURNS'S POKWiS. 

And thousanda hasten'd to the cliarge, 
VVi' Highland wrath, they frae the sheata 
Drew bladea o' death, till out o' breath, 
They fled like frighted does, man. 

'• O how, deil. Tarn, can that oe true ' 
The chase gaed frae the north, man; 
I saw myself, tliey did pursue 

The horsemen back to Forth, man: 
And at Dumb lane, in my ain sight, 
They took the brig wi' a' their might, 
And straught to Stirling wing'd their ftiqhi 
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut. 
And monie a huntit poor red-coat. 
For fear amaist did ^warf, man.' 

My sister Kate cam up the gate, 

Wi' crowdie unto me, man; 
She swore she saw some rebels run 

Frae Perth unto Dundee, man: 
Their left-hand gen'ral had nae skill. 
The Angus lads had nae good will 
That day their neebors' bluid to spill ; 
For fear by foes that they should lose 
Their cogs o' brose: all crying woes, 

And so it goes, you see, man. 

They've lost some gallant gentlemen, 

Amang the Highland clans, man 
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain, 

Or fall'n in whiggish hands, man: 
Now wad ye sing this double fight, 
Some fell for wrang, and some for right 
But monie bade the world gui(?i-night 



BORNS'S POEMS. ^W^- 

Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, 
By red claymores, and muskets' knell, 
Wi' dying yell, the tories fell, 
And whigs to hell did flee, man. 



CONTENTMENT. 

Tune — ^^ Lumps o' Pudding.^ 

"oNTENTED wl' little, and cantie wi' mair, 
Whene'er I forgather wi' sorrow and care, 
I gie them a skelp, as they're creeping alang, 
Wi' a cog o' guid swats, and an auld Scottish sang 

1 whyles claw the elbow o' troublesome thought ; 
Hut man is a sodger, and life is a faught: 
My mirth and guid humor are coin in my pouch. 
And uiy freedom's my lairdship nae monarch dare touch 

A towmond o' trouble, should that be my fa\ 
A night o' good fellowship sowthers it a' : 
When at the blithe end o' our journey at last, 
VVha the devil ever thinks o' the road he has past ? 

Blind chance, let her snapper stoyte on her way, 
Be't to me, be't frae me, e'en let the jade gae : 
Cmie ease, or come travail ; come pleasure or pain ; 
M> warst ward is- -" Welcome, and welcome aga m .' 



478 BURNS 8 rOKMI. 



THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERa 

APRIL, 1795. 

Tine — '•^Push about the Jorum.* 

Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? 

Then let the louns beware, sir; 
There's wooden walls upon our seaa, 

And volunteers on shore, sir. 
The Nith shall run to Corsincon,* 

And Criffelf sink in Solway, 
Ere we permit a foreign foe 

On British ground to rally! 

Fall de rail, &f« 

O let us not, hke snarling tykes, 

In wrangling be divided ; 
Till, slap ! come in an unco loun, 

And wi' a rung decide it 
Be Britain still to Britain true, 

Amang oursels united ; 
For never, but by British hands, 

Maun British wrangs be righted. 
Fall de rail, &,a 

The kettle o' the kirk and state, 
Perhaps a claut may fail in't; 



• A high hill at the iource of ihe Nilh. 

* A well-known mouiuaiji ai the mouih of '.lie Snlw«f 



BURNS S POEMS. 479 

But deil a foreign tinkler loun 

Shall ever ca' a nail in't 
Our fathers' bluid the kettle bought 

And wha wad dare to spoil it? 
By heav'n! the sacreligious dog 

Shall fuel be to boil it! 

Fall de rail, &c. 

The wretch that wad a tyrant own, 

And the wretch, his true-born brotner, 
Who would set the mob aboon the throne^ 

May they be d — n'd together! 
Who will not sing, "God save the King," 

Shall hang as high's the steeple: 
But while we sing, " God save the King," 

We'll ne'er forget the People. 

Fall de rail, &c. 



CALEDONIA. 
Tune — " Humours of Glen," 

Their groves o' sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon, 
Where bright-beaming summ(>rs exalt the perfume ^ 

Pit dearer to me yon lone glen o' green breckan, 
Wi' the burn stealing under the lang yellow broom 

Far dearer to me are yon humble broom bowers, 
Wliere the blue-bell and gowan lurk lowly unseen 

For there, lightly twpping amang the wild flowers 
A-listening the linnet, aft wanders my Jean. 



180 BURNS'S POEMS. 

Tho' rich is the breeze in their gay sunny vailcyf, 

And caul J Caledonia's blast on the wave : 
Their sweet-scented woodlands that skirt the proud 
palace — 
What are they? — The haunt of the tjr^uit ami 
slave. 

The slave's spicy forests, and gold-bubbling fountaiiiaj 
The brave Caledonian views witli disdain : 

He wanders as free as the winds of his mountains, 
Save love's willing fetters, the chains o' his Jean 



COMIN' THROUGH THE RYE. 

Tune — " Gin a Body meet a Body ^ 

Gin a body meet a body, 

Comin' thro' the rye; 
Gin a body kiss a body, 

Need a body cry? 
Ev'ry lassie has her laddie, 

Nane, they say, hae I ! 
Yet a' the lads they smile at me, 
When comin' thro' the rye. 
Amang the train there is a swam 

I dearly lo'e mysel' ; 
But whaur his hame, or wliat his DRme, 
I dinna care to tell. 

Gin a body meet a body, 
Comin' frae the VSwn 



BUK.VS'S POEMS. 4b> 

Gin a body greet a body, 

Need a body frown ? 
Ev'ry lassie has her laddie, 

Nane, they say, hae I ! 
Yet a' the lads they smile at me, 
When comin' thro' the rye. 
Amang the train there is a swain 

1 dearly lo'e mysel' ; 
Bjt whaur his hame, or what his name, 
[ dinna care to tell. 



THE WHISTLE. 

A BALLAD. 

As lie authentic prose history *f "The Whistle " is cirioi a, I «aa< 
iere ^-ive it. 

Ill ilie train of Anne of Denmark, when slie came to ScotlamJ with 
our James VI , tliere came over also a Danish gentleman cf g^ij^aniio 
Buuure and great prowess, and a matchless champion of Bacchus He 
had a little ebony Whistle, which, at the coniinencement of ih'j orgiee, 
he laid on the table; and whoever was last able to blow it, evury body 
else being disabled by the potency of the boltle. was to carry off the 
Whisile as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced credentials of hii 
viciories, without a single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Su»;2k- 
k.:>lm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the petty couri.s in Germary; 
and chadenged the Scots Bacchanalians to tiie alternative of trying h:i 
prowess, or else of acknowledging their inferiority. 

After many overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane wag ev 
jenniered by Sir Robert I^awrie, of Maxwehon, ancestor of the prusaal 
worthy baronet of that name; wiio, after three days, and three m^k^jf 
hard contest, left the Scandinavian under the table, 

*' And blew on the AVhistle his requiem shrill.V 

Wvr Walie-,son tc Sir Robert before-mentioned, aftcrward.s lost ii>« 



482 BURNS'S POEM*. 

Whistle to Walter Riddel, of Glenriddel, wlio had married / aiater « 
.Sir NValier's. 

l}i\ Friday, the 10th of October, 1790, at Friars-Carse, the Whislk 
was once iriorecoineuded for, us related in llie hallad, by ilie present Sir 
Robr.rt Lawrie, of Ala.xweiioii; Robert Kiddel, Esq , of G enriddel, Im- 
tal descendant and representative of Walter Riddel, who wo: the 
Wh.is'.le, and ui whose family il had continued; and Alcxar.der ler- 
I ,i>' n, Esq., of Craiifdarroch, likewise descended of the great Sir Rub- 
er.; .vhich last gentleman earned otf the hard-won liimors of the ueld 

I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth, 

i sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North, 

Was brought to the court of our good [Scottish kiu*^, 

Ami lone; with this Whistle all Scotland shall nu:;. 



Old Loda * still rueing the arm of Fingal, 
The god of the bottle sends down from his hail — 
"This Whistle's your challenge, to Scotland get o'er 
And drink them to hell, sir ! or ne'er see me more ' ' 

Old poets have sung, and old chronicles tell. 
What champions ventur'd, what champions fell ; 
The son of great Loda was com[ueror still, 
And blew on the Whistle his requiem shrill. 

Fill Robert, the Lord of the Cairn and the Scaur, 
ITnmatch'd at tlie bottle, unconquer'd in war, 
lie drank his poor godship as deep as tlie sea, 
Nc tide of the Baltic e'er drunker than be 

'J'hucj Robert, victorious, the trophy has gain'd, 
Which now in his house has for ages rcmain'd; 
Till three noble chieftains, and all of his blood. 
The jovial contest again have renew'd. 

See Ossian's Caric tbura 



498 



rhree joyouf good fellows, with hearts clea: of flaw 
Crai^darroch so fnmous for wit, worth and aw 
And trusty (ihjiriddol, so skill'd in eld coins; 
And gallant Sir Robert, deep-reaii in old winea. 

Craigdarroch began, with a tongue smooth as oil, 
Desiring Glenriddel to yield up the spoil ; 
Or else lie would muster the heads of the clan, 
And once more, in claret, try which was the man 

" By tlie gods of the ancients ! " Glenriddel replies', 
" Before I surrender so glorious a prize 
I'll conjure the ghost of the great Rorie More,* 
And bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er." 

Sir Robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend, 
But he ne'er turn'd his 'lack on his foe or his friend 
Said, Toss down the Whistle, the prize of the field, 
And, knee-deep m claret, he'd die, or he'd yield. 

To tlie board of Glenriddel our heroes repair, 

So noted for drowning of sorrow and care ; 

But for wine and for welcome not more known to fame 

Than the sense, wit, and taste, of a swe€t, lovely darao 

A bard was selected to witness the fray, 
And tell future ages the feats of the day; 
A Bard who. detested all sadness and spleen, 
And wish'd that Parnassus a vineyard had been. 

The dinner being over, the claret they ply. 
And ev'ry new cork is a new spring of joy ; 

* See Johnson's Tour to the Hebrides. 



484 BURNS S POEMS. 

In the bands of old friendship and kindred so sot, 
And the bands grew the tighter the more they w ere <\ H 

Gay pleasure ran riot as bumpers ran o'er; 
Bright Phcebus ne'er witness'd so joyous a core, 
And vow'd that to leave them he was quite forlorn, 
Till Cynthia hinted he'd see them next morn 

Six bottles apiece had well wore out the night. 
When gallant Sir Robert, to finish the fight, 
Turn'd o'er in one bumper a bottle of red, 
And swore 'twas the way that their ancestors did. 

Then wartliy Ghmriddel, so cautious and sage, 
No longer the warfare, ungodly, would wage ; 
A high rulin<^ Elder, to wallow in wine! 
He left the foul business to folks less divine. 

The gallant Sir Robert fought hard to the end ; 
But who can with fate and quart-bumpers contend 
Tho' fate said — a hero should perish in light; 
So up rose bright Phoebus — and down tell the knigia 

Next up rose our Bard, like a prophet in drink: — 
" Craigdarroch, thou'lt soar when creation shall sinii . 
Cut if thou would -flourish immortal in rhyme, 
Come — one bottle more — and have at the sublime ! 

'■ Thy line, that have struggled for freedom with Brucv, 

Shall heroes and patriots ever produce. 

So thine be the laurel, and mine be the bay; 

The f eld Uiou hast won by yon bright god oi day ' ' 



■ CRNS'S POKMS. 483 



JOHN BARLEYCORN.* 

A BALLAD. 

There vent three kings into the eart. 
Three kings both great and high, 

An' they hae sworn a solemn oath, 
John Barleycorn should die. 

They took a plough and plough'd him dowa. 

Put clods upon his head, 
^nd they hae sworn a solemn oath 

John Barleycorn was dead. 

BiJt the cheerful spring came kindly on, 

And showers began to fall , 
John Barleycorn got up again. 

And sore surprised them all. 

Tiie sultry suns of summer came, 

And he grew thick ard strong, 
His head weel arm'd wi' pointed spears 

That no one should him wrong. 

The sober autumn enter'd mild. 

When he grow wan and pale, 
His bending joints and drooping head 

Show'd ne beofan to fail. 



This is partly composed on the plan of aii old song know o I j liM 
le rtame. 

41* 



iBd BURPJS'S POEMS. 

ills color sicken'd more and more. 

He faded into ai^e ; 
And then his enemies bejjan 

To show tJieir deadly rage. 

They've ta'en a weapon long and sharfi, 

And cut him by the knee: 
TlMjn tied him fast upon a cart, 

Like a rogue for forgene. 

They laid him down upon his bnck 
And cudgelled him full sore; 

They hung him up before the stonai 
And turn'd him o'er and o'er 

They filled up a darksome pit 

Wi' h water to the brim ; 
They heaved in John Barleycorn. 

There let him sink or swim. 

fhcy laid him out upon the floor 

To work him farther wo ; 
And still as signs of life appearedg 

They toss'd him to and fro. 

They wasted o'er a scorching flam© 

The marrow of his bones ; 
Bat a miller used him worst ot ail. 

For he crush'd him between two dione* 

And they hae taen his very heart's blood, 
And drank it round and round ; 

And still the more and more they drank, 
Their joy did more abound. 



IP0%K(8 8 POEM". 447 

fohQ Barleycorn was a hero bold, 

Of noble enterprise ; 
For. if you do but taste Jiis blood, 

'Twill make your courage rise. 

Twill make a man forget his wo ; 

'Twill heighten all his joy , 
Twill make the widow's heart to ^m^, 

Tho' the tear were in her eye. 

Fhen let us toast John Bar]eycaPS8 

Each man a glass in hand ; 
lad may liis great poateritf 



GLOSSARY 



Th£ ih and gh have always the guttural so'iiid. Tl* 
sound of the English diphthong oo^ is commonly spelled ou. 
The French m, a sound which often occurs m the Scottish 
languaiife, is marked oo. or ui. The a in genuine Scottish 
words, except Avhcn forming a diphthong, or followed by 
an e mute, after a single onsoiumt, ^.'irids generally like 
the broad EngUsh a in wall, 'ITie Scottish diphthongs, <*, 
always, and ca, very often, sound Hke the French e m:iscu- 
line. T.>e Scottish diphthong ey sounds like the Latin ei. 



A. 

A', all, everyone, tbe whole. 

Aback, away, aloof. 

A-bcigh, at a shy distance. 

Aboon, above, up, in the re- 
gions of heaven. 

Abroad, ii broad, in sight, at 
large. 

Ahreoci. in breadth. 

Ae, one. 

A ff. off. 

Arl-hand, extempore, imme- 
diately. 

A li- loof, unprem editated. 

AJbre, 1: et'ore, snoner than. 

Ait, oft. 



Aften, often, frequently, ma- 

nv times. 
Agley, off the right line, ob. 

lique, AATong. 
Aiblins, perhaps. 
Aik, the oak. 
Air, early, soon. 
Airl-penny, earnest-money f 

piece of money for con 

firming a bargain. 
Aii't, quarter of the heav^ia 

to direct. 
Airn, u'on. 
Aith, an oath. 
Aits, oats. 
Aiver, an old horse. 
Aizle, a hot cinder. 



45)2 



GLOSSART. 



AJake, alas . 

AJ:me, alone, solitary, single, 
without company. 

Akwart. awkward, inelegant, 
untjiught. 

Amaist, almost, nearly. 

Amajig, among, mingled 

An', and, if. [with. 

Ance, once, one time. 

Ane, one ; and. 

Anent, over against, con- 
ceniing. 

Anithcr, another, one more. 

Ase, ashes, the remains of 
burnt coals. 

Ask lent, asquint, aslant. 

Astcer, abroad, stirring. 

Athart, athwart, wrong. 

Aught, possession; as, in a' 
my aught, in all my pos- 
session. 

Aulilfarren, or Auldfarrent, 
sagacious, cunning, pru- 
dent. 

Auld lang s^Tie, olden time, 
days' of other years. 

Auld, old, ancient, advanced 
in yeai-s. 

Aimtic, an aunt. 

Ava', at all, of all, of any. 

Awa' away, absent. 

Awfn*, a\\'ful, terrible. 

Awn, the beard of barley, 
oats, iScc. 

Awnie, bearded. 

Ayont, beyond, at a distance, 
out of the reach of. 



B. 

Ba', ball. 

Backets, ashboards, a si^uar* 
wooden vessel for carrying 
coals to the fire, a kind of 
box for holding; salt. 

BackLins comin', com Lug 
back, returning. 

Bad, did bid. 

Baide, endured, did stay. 

Bailie, a magistrate in Scot- 
land, answering to an al- 
derman in England. 

Baggie, dimin. of bag, a fa- 
miliar term used to signify 
the bally. 

Bainie, haAing large bones, 
stout. 

Bairn, a child. 

Bairntime, a family of chil- 
dren, a brood. 

Baith, both ; Ukewise. 

Bake, a small cake or biscuit 

Ban, to swear, to make an ir- 
reverent exclamation ; re- 
proach, censure. 

Bane, bone. 

Bang, to beat, to strive, ti 
excel. 

Bardie, dimin. of bro-d. 

Bareiit, barefooted, without 
shoes or stockings. 

Bai-mie, of, or like barm. 

Batch, a crew, a gang. 

Batt«, botts, small worms ia 
the entrails of horses. 



GLOSSARY. 



Baudrons, u cat 

Baiild. bold, in.repid. 

Bawk, a strip of land left 
unploughed, two or three 
foct ill width; a ridge, a 
bank. 

li iws'nt having a white 
smpe down the face. 

Dc, to lot be, to give over, to 
coiise. 

Bear, barley. 

Beastie, dimin. of beast. 

Beet, to add fuel to fire. 

Held, bald, without hair on 
the head. 

Belyve, by-and-by. 

Ben, into the spence or par- 
lor. 

Benmost, innennost. 

Bonlomond, a noted moun- 
tain in Dumbartonshire. 

licthankit, grace or short 
prayer after the time or 
act of eating. 

Beuk, a book. 

Bicker, a kind of wooden 
dish, a short race. 

Bie, or Bield, shelter. 

Bien, ^^calthy, plentiful. 

Big, to build. 

Biggin, building ; a house. 

Biggii. built. 

Bill, a bull. 

iJillie, a brother, a young fel- 
low. 

Bir.g, a heap of grain, pota- 
toes, &t. 

42 



Birk, oirch. 

Birken-shaw, Birchen wood« 

shaw, a omall wood. 
Birkie, a clever fellow. 
Birring, the noise of pai- 

tridges, &g., when thej 

spring. 
Bit, crisis, nick of time. 
Bizz, a bustle ; to buzz. 
Blae, livid. 
Elastic, a shrivelled dwarf, i 

term of contempt. 
Blastit, blasted. 
Blate, bashful, sheepish. 
Blather, bladder. 
Blaud, a flat piece of any 

thing ; to slap. 
Blaw, to bloAv, to boast. 
Bleerit, bleared, sore with 

rheum. 
Bleert and blin', bleared and 

blind. 
Bleezing, blazing, flaming. 
Blellum, an idle, talking fel» 

low. 
Blether, to tall; idly ; i;on« 

sense. 
Bleth'rin, talking idly. 
Blink, a little white, a smil' 

ing look ; to look kiiidly, 

to shine by fits. 
Blinker, a term of contercpt. 
Blinkin, smirking, ogling. 
Blithe, or Blythe, cheerful. 
Blue-gown, one of those beg* 

gars who get annually, oq 

the king's birth- day, i 



194 



GLOSSAL r. 



blue cloak cr gown, with 
a badge. 

Bluid, blood. 

B^^'itie, snivelling. 

Bn-pe, a shred, a large piece. 

iioi)k, to vomit, to gush in- 
termittently. 

Hocked, g-jshed, vomited. 

D.kIIo, an old copper coin, of 
the value of i^ennies Scots, 
or one-third of an Eng- 
li.-^h penny. 

Bogles spirits, hobgoblins. 

Bouie . or Bony, handsome, 
beautiful. 

Bonnock, a kind of thick 
cake of bread, a small jan- 
nack or loaf made of oat- 
meal. 

Boord, a board. 

Boortree, the slirub elder, 
planted much of old in 
hedges of bam-yards, &c. 

Boost, behooved, must needs. 

Bore, a hole in the wall. 

Botch, blotch, an angry Ui- 
mnr. 

r>ouk, body, a person. 

Bousing, drinking, quaffing. 

Bott'-kail, cabbage. 

Dcw-hough'd, applied to the 
lOwer part of the thighs, 
when crooked or bent out- 
wards. 

Brackens, fern. 

Brae, a decli-vity, a precipice, 
the slope of a hill. 



Braid, broad, plain. 
Bragin't, reeled forvz-ard. 
Braik, a kind of harrow, aj 

instrument used in has- 

bandry. 
Brainge, to run rashly for- 
ward. 
Brak, broke, made insolvcni 
Branks, a kind of wooden 

curb for horses. 
Brash, a sudden illness. 
Brats, coarse clotlies, rags, 

&c. 
Brattle, a short race, hurry 

fury. 
Braw, fine, handsome. 
Brawlyt, or Brawlie, verj 

well, finely, heartily. 
Braxie, a morbid sheep. 
Breastie, dimin. of brea.st. 
Breastit, did sjjring up oi 

forward. 
Breckan, fern. 
Breef, an invulnf rable or it' 

resistible spell. 
Brecks, breeches. 
Brent, smooth. 
Brewin, brewing. 
Brie, juice, liquid. 
Brig, a bridge. 
Brunstane, brimston ». 
Brisket, the breast, the \» 

som. 
Brithcr, a brother. 
Brock, a badger. 
Brogue, a hum, a trick 
\ Broo, broth, liquid, v'atar. 



GLOSSARY. 



495 



Brose, a kind ',f pottage, 
made by pouring boiling 
water or broth on oat-meal, 
which is stirred while the 
water is poiired ; a race at 
country weddings, who 
shall first reach the bride- 
groom's house, on return- 
ing from church, so called, 
perhaps, from brose being 
allotted to the victor. 

Brownie, a spirit, supposed, 
till lately, to haunt old 
houses, particiilarly those 
attached to farms, and 
sometimes to do the di-udg- 
ery of the servants during 
the night. 

Brugh, a burgh. 

Hndlzie, a broil, a combus- 
tion. 

Brunt, did bum, burnt. 

Brust, to burst, burst. 

Buchan-bullcrs, the boilmg 
of the sea among the rocks 
on the coast of Buchan. 

Bucksin, an inhabitant of 
Virginia. 

Bught, a pen. 

Bughtin-time, the time of 
collecting the sheep in the 
pens to be milked. 

Buirdly, stout made, broad 
made. 

Bum-clock, a humming bee- 
tle that flies in the siun- 
mer evenings. 



Bumming, hamming, aft 

bens. 
Bummle, to blunder ; a dolt 

a stupid person. 
Bummler, a blunderer. 
Bunker, a window-seat. 
Burdies, dimin. of birds. 
Bure, did bear. 
Burn, water, a ri\'iilet. 
Burnie, dimin. of burn. 
Buskie, bushy. 
Buskit, dressed finely, deco 

rated. 
Busks, drosses. 
Busle, a bustle ; to bustle. 
Buss, shelter. 
But, Bot, witli, Avithout. 
But an' ben, the countrj 

kitchen and parlor. 
By himsel', lunatic, distract 

ed. 
Byke, a bee-hive, a crowd 
Byre, a cow-house. 

C. 

Ca', to call, to name, ta 

drive. 
Ca't, or Ca'd, called, driven, 

calved. 
Cadger, a canier. 
Cadie, or Caddie, a person, 

a young fellow. 
Caff, chaff. 
Caird, a tinker. 
Cairn, a loose heap of 

stones. 



ID6 



GI <)H3ART. 



Calf- ward, a small enclosure 
for ciilves. 

Callan, a boy. 

Caller, fresh, sound, refresh- 
ing. 

Canie, or Cannie, gentle, 
mild, dexterous. 

Uannilie, dexterously, gen- 
tly. 

Cantic, or Canty, cheerful, 
merry. 

Cantrip, a charm, a spell. 

Caprin, capering, skipping 
merrily. 

Cap-stane, cope-stone, key- 
stone. 

Careerin, cheerfully. 

Carl, an old man. 

Carl-hemp, the largest stalk 
of hemp, firmness of mind. 

Carlin, a stout old woman. 

Cartes, cards. 

Caudron, a caldron, 

Cauk and keol, chalk and red 
clay. 

Cauld, cold. 

Caup, a wooden drinking 
vessel. 

Cvivie, a coop or pen for 
poultry. 

Cawd, driven. 

Cesses, taxes. 

Chanter, a part of a bagpipe 

Chap, a person, a fellow, a 
blow. 

Chaup, a stroke a blow. 

Cheekit, cheeked. 



Cheep, a < nirp ; to chirp 
Chiel, or Cheel, a young fel 

low. 
Chimla, or Clumlie, a Are 

grate, a fire-place. 
Chimla-lug, the fireside. 
Chittering, shivering, tren:< 

bling. 
Chockin, choking. 
Chow, to chew ; Cheek-lor- 

chow, side-by-side. 
Chuffie, fat-faced. 
Clachan, a small Adllage 

about a church, a ham- 
let. 
Claiso, or Clacs, clothes. 
Claith, cloth. 
Claithiug, clothing. 
Claivcrs, nonsense ; not 

speaking sense. 
Clap, clapper of a mill. 
Clarkit, wrote. 
Clash, an idle tale, the story 

of the day. 
Clatter, to tell little idle sto- 

ries ; an idle story. 
Claught, snatched at, laid 

hold of. 
Claut, to clean, to scrape ; a 

heap, a gieat quantity 

abundance. 
Clauted, scraped. 
CI aver clover. 
Clavers, idle stories. 
Claw, to scratch. 
Claw'd, scratched. 
Clajonore, a sword, a weapov 



GLOfcSART. 



497 



«*€d ei -her ir. cutting or 

thrusting. 
Heed, to ciothe. 
Clecds, clothes. 
Cleok, to lay h)ld of after 

the manner of a hook, to 

seize at all events, 
{ 'leckit, having cau<;ht. 
I linkin, jerking, clinking. 
Ijlinkumbell, he -who rings 

the church bell. 
Clips, shears. 

Clishmaclaver, idle conver- 
sation. 
Clock, to hatch ; a beetle. 
Clockin, hatching. 
Cloot, the hoof of a cow, 

sheep, &c. 
Clootie, an old name for the 

Devil. 
Clour, a bump, or swelling, 

after a blow. 
Clout, to beat, to strike ; a 

blow, a cuff. 
Cluds, clouds. 

Clunk, to guggle in the man- 
ner of a bottle when it is 

emptying. 
(Joaxin, wheedling; flattery. 
Coble, a fishing boat. 
0>ckemony, a lock of hair 

tied upon a girl's head, a 

cap. 
Cookie, dimin. of cock. 
Coft, bought. 
Cog, a wooden dish. 
Oc^gie, dimir. of coji. 



Coila, from Kyle, a di?itric< 
of AjTshire, so called from 
Coil, or Coilus, a Pietish 
monarch. 

Collie, a general, and aoni r, 
times a particular name fo: 
country curs. 

Collieshangie, quarrelling, 

Commaim, command. 

Cood, the cud. 

Coof, a blockhead, a ninny. 

Cookit, appeared tmd disap 
peared by fits. 

Cooser, a hcrse kojit foj 
mares. 

Coost, did cast. 

Coot, the ancle, or foot. 

Cootie, a wooden kitchen 
dish ; fowls whose legs are 
clad with feathers are said 
to be cootie. 

Corbies, a species of the 
crow. 

Core, corps, party, clan. 

Corn't, fed with oats. 

Cotter, the inhabitant of e 
cot-house or cottage. 

Couthie, kind, lo\'ing. 

Cove, a cave. 

Cowc, to terrify, to keep un- 
der, to lop ; a fright, a 
branch of furze, broom, 
&c. 

Cow^), to barter, to ttznibii 
over ; a gang. 

Cowpit, tumbled. 

Cowrln, cowering, stooping 



496 



GLftSSART. 



Coit, a colt, a young horse. 

Cozie, snug, 

Coziely, snugly. 

Crabbit, crabbed, fretful, 

80 lU 

(Jrack, to converse ; conver- 
sation. 

Cirackin, conversing. 

Craft, or Croft, in old hus- 
bandry, a field near a 
house. 

Craigie, dimin. of crag, the 
thrcdt, the neck. 

Craiks, birds, incessant calls 
or cries. 

Crambo-clink, or Crambo- 
jingle, rhymes, doggerel 
verses. 

Crank, the noise of an un- 
greased wheel. 

Crankous, fretful, captious. 

Cranreuch, the hoar frost. 

Crap, or Crop, the produce 
oi land ; to crop. 

Craw, a crow of a cock ; a 
rook. 

Creel, a kind of osier basket ; 
To have one's wits in a 
creel, to be crazed, to be 
fascinated. 

Creeshie, greasy. 

Cytoiue, or Crony, an intimate 
acquaintance. 

Crood, or Croud, to coo, as a 
dove. 

Crooks, old ewes that have 
fpyen oror bearing. 



Croon, a hollow, continaed 
moan ; to make a noi»i 
like the continued roar of 
a bull, to hum a tune. 

Crooning, humming. 

Crouchie, crook-backed. 

Crouse, cheerful, coursgeoiu 

Crousely, cheerfully, cour- 
ageously. 

CroAvdie, a composition of 
oat-meal and boiled water, 
sometimes from the broth 
of beef, mutton, &c. 

Cro wdie- time, breakfast- 
time. 

Crowlin, crawling, creeping. 

Crummock, a cow with 
crooked horns. 

Crump, hard and brittle ; — 
spoken of bread. 

Crunt, a blow on the head 
with a cudgel. 

Cuif, a blockhead, a ninny. 

Cummock, a short staff with 
a crooked head. 

Curchie, a courtesy 

Curler, a player at a gamb 
on the ice, practised in 
Scotland, called curling. 

Curlie, curled ; one whose 
hair falls naturally in ring- 
lets. 

Curling, a well known gair.« 
on the ice. 

Curmurring, murmuring! , 
slight riunhling noise. 

Curpin, the crupper. 



GLOSSARY. 



^3^ 



Ci-Jihal, the do^ie, Dr rt'ood- 
pigeou. 

P.itty, short ; a spo' n broken 
in the middle, a ight wo- 
rn an. 

^'utty-stool, a stool on which 
culprits sit whez making 
public satisfaction in the 
kirk, for having committed 
fornication. 



D. 

Daddie, a father. 

Daezt, stupified, deprived of 
vigor or sensibility. 

Daffin, merriment, foolish- 
ness. 

Daft, merry, giddy, foolish. 

D aim en, rare, now and then. 

Daimen-icker, an ear of com 
now and then. 

Dainty, pleasant, good hu- 
mored, agreeable. 

Dales, plains, valleys. 

Danton, to intimidate, to 
subdue. 

Pam, urine, piddle. 

Darklins, darkling, being in 
the dark, void of light. 

Daud, to thrash, to abuse. 

Daur, to dare, to defy. 

')aurt, dared, defied. 

Daurg, or Daurk, a day's la- 
bor> 

Davoc, David. 

Dawd, a large piece 



Dawtit. or Daatet, foniled. 

caressed. 
Dearies, dimin. of dears. 
Dearthfu', dear. 
Deave, deafen. 
Deil-ma-care, no matter ff.'l 

all that. 
Deleerit, delirious. 
Descrive, to describe. 
Dcvle, a stunning blow. 
Diddle, to shake, to jog. 
Dight, to wipe, to clean corn 

from chaff; cleaned from 

chaff. 
Dights, clean. 
Din, sallow. 

Duig, to worst, to push. 
Dinna, do not. 
Dirl, a slight tremulonh 

stroke or pain. 
Dizzen, or Diz'n, a dozen. 
Doited, stupified, hebetated. 
Dolt, stupified, crazed ; 8 

stupid fellow. 
Donsie, unlucky. 
Dool, sorrow ; to sing dool^ 

to lament, to moiim. 
Doos, doves. 
Dorty, saucy, nice, discon« 

tented. 
Douce, or Douse, sober, wise, 

prudent. 
Doucely, soberly, prudently. 
I) ought, was, or were able. 
Doup skelper, one wh9 
, strikes the tail. 
Doup, the backside. 



»x> 



eLt*9SAR^. 



Dour, sullen, obstinate. 

Doure, stout, durable, sullen, 
stubborn. 

Dnisor, more prudent. 

Do'.v, am, or are able, can. 

Dowrt", pithless, wanti ig 
spirit 

Uowie, u'om -with grief, fa- 
tigue, &c., half asleep. 

Downa, am, or arc not able, 
cannot. 

Doylt, stupid. 

I)rap, a drop ; to drop. 

Drajjping, dropping. 

Draunting, drawling. 

f )rccp, to ooze, to drop. 

Droigh, tedious, long about 

I>rib))Ie, driz/.ling ; slaver. 

Dridille, to be diligent insig- 
nificantly. 

!>rift, a drove. 

I>rod<lum, the beech. 
• Drone, part of a bagpipe. 

fVop-rumpl't, that droojis at 
the crupper. 

I)roukit, drenched, wet. 

I>routh, thirst, drought. 

iJrucken, drunken. 

haimly, muddy, thick, ob- 
scure. 

hrunimock, meal and water 
mixed raw. 

Drunt, pet, sjur humor, 

Uub, a small pond. 

Duds, rags, clothes. 

Dmldie, ragged. 



Dung, worsted, j. U8b*rt 

driven, exhausted. 
Dunted, beaten, boxeu 
Dush, to push, as a ram, fee 
Dusht, pushed \<y a ram, :>t^ 
&c. 



E. 

E'e, the eye. 

Een, the eyes. 

E'enin', evening, the ciuM 

of the day. 
Eerie, frighted, dreading 

spirits. 
Eild, old age. 
Elbuck, the elbow. 
Eldritch, ghastly, frightfuL 
En', end. 

Enbrugh, Edinburgh. 
Eneugh, enough. 
Especial, especially. 
Ettle, to try, to attempt, td 

endeavor. 
Eydent, diligent, industri' 

ous. 



Fa', fall, lot ; tc fall. 

Fa's, does fall ; water-faila. 

Faddom't, fathomed. 

Fae, a foe, an enemy. 

Faem, foam. 

Faiket, unkncwn, \mem 

ployed. 
Fairin, a present £t faii-*irae 



50 



Fallow, fellow. 

Fand, did find 

Farl, a cake of breaa. 

Fash, trouble, care ; to troub- 
le, to care for. 

Fashious, troublesome. 

Fasht, troul)lcd. 

.?astem E'en, Fasteens Even. 

Fauld, a fold ; to fold. 

Fa Hiding, folding. 

Faut, fault. 

Fawsont, decent, seemly. 

Feal, a field ; smooth. 

Fearfu', frightful. 

Fear't, fi-ighted. 

Feat, neat, spruce. 

Fecht, to tight ; a struggle, 
of wliatever kind. 

Fechtin, or Fetchin, fight- 
ing. 

Feck, man)-, plenty. 

Fecket, waistcoat. 

Fcckfu', large, brawny, stout. 

Feckless, puny, weak, silly, 
trifling. 

F'cckly, weakly. 

Fog, a fig. 

Feido, fcxid, enmity. 

Fell, keen, biting ; the flesh 
immediately under the 
iVin, a field pretty level 
OB the side or top of a 
hill. 

Fen, successful struggle, 
fight. 

Fend, to live comfortably. 

Vt?rUo, ir Ferly, to wonder ; 



a wonder, a term of cou' 
tempt. 

Fetch, to pull by fits. 

Fetch' t, piilled intermirtent- 

Fey, foe. [ly, 

Fidge, to fidget. 

Fiel, soft, smooth. 

Eient, fiend, a petty oath. 

Fier, sound, healthy ; 9 
brother, a friend. 

Fisle, to make a rustling 
noise, to fidget ; a bustle. 

Fit, a foot. 

Fizz, to make a hissing noise, 
like fermentation. 

Flainen, flannel. 

Fleech, to supplicate, or en- 
treat, in a flattering man- 
ner. 

Fleech' d, supplicated. 

Flcechin, supplicating. 

Fleesh, a fleece. 

Flcg, a kick, a random blow. 

Flether, to decoy by fair 
words. 

Fletherin, flattering. 

Flewit, a smart blow. 

Fley, to scare, to frighten. 

Flichter, to flutter, as young 
nestlings, when their dam 



Flinders, shreds, broken 
pieces. 

Flingin-tree, a piece of tim- 
ber hung by way of par- 
tition between two horsei 
in a stable, a flail. 



502 



GLOgSAHT. 



Flisk, t) fret at the yoke. 

Fliskit, fretted . 

Flitter, to vibrate, like the 
■\\-ings of small birds. 

Flittering, fluttering, vibrat- 
ing. 

Flunkie, a servant in livery. 

Foord, a ford. 

Forbears, forefathers, ances- 
tors. 

Foibye, besides. 

Forfain distressed, worn out, 
jaded. 

Forfoughten, fatigued. 

Forgather, to meet, to en- 
counter with. 

Forge, to forgive. 

Forjesket, jaded \\i h fatigue. 

Forrit, forward. 

Fother, fodder. 

Fou, full, drunk. 

F*»ughten, troubled, ha- 
rassed. 

Fouth, plenty, enough, more 
than enough. 

Fow, a bushel, &3., also a 
pitchfork., 

Frae, from. 

Freath, froth. 

Frien', friend. 

Fu', full. 

Fud, the scut or tail of the 
hare, coney, &c. 

FufF, to blow intermittently. 

Fuff't, did blow. 

Funnie, full of merriment. 

F'lr, a fiimw 



Furm, a fonn, benc.i. 

Fyke, trifling cares ; to pid 
die, to be in a fuse aboui 
trifles, to agitate. 

Fyle, to soil, to dirty, to poi« 
lute. 

Fyl't, soiled, dirtied, pollut- 
ed. 

G. 

Ga-B, the mouth ; to speak 

boldly or pertly. 
Gaberlimzie, an old man. 
Gadsman, a ploughboy, the 

boy that drives the horsei 

in the plough. 
Gae, to go. 
Gaed, went. 
Gaen, or Gane, gone. 
Gaet, or Gate, way, manner, 

road. 
Gang, to go, to walk. 
Gaiigrel, strolling wander- 
ing, roving. 
Gar, to make, to force. 
Gar't, forced. 
Garten, a garter. 
Gash, wise, sagacious, talli • 

ative ; to converse. 
Gashin, conversing. 
Gaucy, jolly, large. 
Gaun, going. 
Gawky, half-witted, foolish, 

romping. 
Gear, riches, goods of aaj 

kind. 



GLOSSARY. 



5ucj 



Geek, to toss the head in 
wantonness or scorn. 

Ged, a pike. 

Gentles, great folks. 

Geordie, a guinea. 

a) t, a child, a young one. 

»aist, a ghost. 

Gie, to give. 

Gied, gave. 

Gien, given. 

Giftie, diinin. of gift. 

Giglets, playful girls. 

Gillie, diniu\. of gill. 

Gilpcy, a half-crown, a half- 
informed boy or gii'l, a 
iomping lad, a hoiden. 

Gnnmer, an ewe from one 
to two years old. 

Gin, if, against. 

Gipsey, a young girl. 

Girdle, a round phite of iron 
for toasting cakes over the 
tire. 

Giin, to gi-in, to twist the 
features in rage, agony, 
&c. 

Girning, g-rinning. 

Giz7,, a periwig. 

Glaikit, inattentive, foolish. 

Glaive, a SAvord. 

G laizie, glittering, smooth, 
like glass. 

Glaum' d, aimed, snatched. 

Gleg, sharp, ready, 

irleib, glebe. 

Glen, dale, deep valley. 

Glr\, a squint ; t) squint. 



Glib-gubbet, that s\ eaki 

smootUy and readily. 
Ghnt, to peep. 
GUnted, peeped. 
Glintin, peeping. 
Gloainin, the twiUght, 
Glowr, to stare, to look ; a 

stare, a look. 
Glowr' d, looked, stared. 
Glowran, staring. 
Goavan, looking or staring 

awkwardly. 
Gowan, the tlower of the 

daisy, dandelion, hawk- 

wocd, &c. 
Gowany ; Gowany Glens, 

daisied dales. 
Gowd, gold. 
Gowff, the name of golf; tr 

stiike, as the bat does th^ 

ball at golf. 
Gowff 'd, struck. 
Gowk, a cuckoo, a term o\ 

contempt. 
Gowl, to howl. 
Gowling, howling, 
(iraff, a grave. 
Grain, or Grane, a grcan ; to 

groan. 
Grain'd and Grauat«' 

groaned and grxmted. 
Gniining, groaning. 
Graip, a pronged instrunicn 

for cleansing stabJes- 
Graith, accoutrements, fui^ 

'.liture, dress. 
Graunie, a grandmother. 



504 



GJ.OSoART. 



Grape, to grope. 

Grapit, groped. 

Grat, wept, shed tears. 

Great, intimate, familiar. 

(Jree, to agiee ; To bear the 
gree, to be d&jidedly vic- 
tor. 

Gree't, agreed. 

^reet, to shed tears, to 
weep. 

Greetin, crying, weeping. 

Grippet, caught, seized. 

Groat ; To wet the whistle 
of one's groat, to play a 
losing game. 

Grousome, loathsome, grim. 

Grozet, a gooseberry. 

Grumph, a grunt ; to gnmt. 

Gnunphie, a sow. 

Grun', ground. 

Grunstane, a grindstone. 

Gruntle, the phiz, a grunting 
noise. 

Grunzie, the mouth. 

Grushic, thick, of tliri\'ing 
growth. 

G ude, the Supreme Being ; 
good. 

Quid, good. 

Guid-moming, good morn- 
ing. 

G oid-e en, good evening. 

Ouidman and Guidwife, the 
master and mistress of the 
house ; Young guid/nan, a 
maTi uewly married. 

Gmdy»'i)er, a father-in-law. 



Guidmother, a mother- in 

law. 
Gully, or Gullie, a larg« 

knife. 
GujnL'e, mud'dy, turbid. 
Gumption, underst&niliry, 

judgment. 
Gusty, tasteful. 

Ha', hall. 

Ha' -Bible, the great Bibl« 

that lies in the liall. 
Hae, to have. 
Haen, had. 
Haet ; Ficnt haet, a petty 

oath of negation, nothing. 
Haffet, the temple, the side 

of the head. 
Haiilins, nearly half, partly. 
Hag, a scar or gulf in mosses 

or moors, an ugly old wo- 
man. 
Haggis, a kind of pudding 

boiled in the stomach of n 

cow or sheep. 
Hain, to spare, to save. 
Haui'd, spared. 
Hairst, harvest. 
Haith, a petty oath. 
Haivers, nonsense ; speakiag 

without thought. 
Hal', or Hald, an abiiUag 

place. 
Hale, whole, tight, healthy 
Haly, holy. 



sot 



Hallaii, a particular partition 
wall in a cottage, or more 
properly a seat of turf at 
the outside. 

HallowTnas, Hallow-eve, the 
31st of October, 

Hame, home. 

ilamely, homely, affable. 

£Iameward, homeward. 

Flan', or Haun', hand. 

Hap, an outer garment, man- 
tle, plaid, &c. ; to wrap, to 
cover, to hap. 

Happer, a hopper. 

Happing, hopping. 

Hap-step-an'-loup,hop-skip- 
and-icap. 

Rarkit, hearkened. 

Harn, very coarse linen. 

Hash, a fellow that neither 
knows how to dress nor 
act with propriety. 

Hastit, hastened. 

Haud, to hold. 

Haughs, low-ljing rich lands, 
valley's. 

Haurl, to drag, to peel. 

Haurlin, peeling. 

tJ iverel, a half-witted per- 
son, one who talks fool- 
:!<hly. 

llavins, good manners, de- 
corum, good sense. 

llawkio, a cow, properly one 
with a white face. 

Healsome, healthful, whole- 
8omo. 

43 



Hcapit, heaped. 

Hearse, hoi,rse. 

Hear't, hear it. 

Heartie, dimin, of heart. 

Heathei-, heath. 

I lech ! oh ! strange ! 

Hocht, promised ; to foroteil 
something chat is to be gc t 
or given ; foretold ; thf 
thing foretold ; offfTed. 

Heckle, a board in which are 
fixed a number of sharp 
pins, used In dressing 
hemp, flax, &g. 

Heeze, to elevate, to raise. 

Helim, the rudder or helm. 

Herd, to tend flocks ; one 
who tends flocks. 

Hcrrin, a herring. 

Herry, to plunder, most 
properly to plunder birds' 
nests. 

Herryment, plundeiing, de- 
vastation. 

Hersel', herself; also, a held 
of cattle of any sort. 

Het, hot. 

Heugh, a crag, a coal-pit 

Hide and Hair, the car<a,^ 
and hide, the whole. 

Hilch, to hobble, to halt. 

Hilchin, halting. 

Hiltie-skiltie, in rapid rae- 
cession. 

Himsel', himself. 

Hiney, honey. 

Hing, hang. 



son 



GLOSSARt 



Hirijle, to svalk crazily, to 

creep. 
Kirplin, walking crazily. 
Hirsel, so many cattle as one 

person can attend. 
Histie, dry, chapt, barren. 
Hitch, a loop, a knot. 
Hizzie, hnzzy, a yonng girl. 
H-oddin, the motion of a sage 

countrj'man riding on a 

cart horse; humble. 
Uog-score, a kind of distance 

line, in curling, drawn 

across the rink. 
Hog-shouther, a kind of 

horse- play, by ju?tii7).£^ 

with the shoulder ; ^-o 

jiLstle. 
Hool, outer skin or ca^ .;, a 

nut-shell, peas-cod. 
Hoolie, slowly, leisurely- 
Koolie ! take leisure ! Jtop ! 
Hoord, a hoard ; to howid. 
Iloordit, hoarded. 
Horn, a spoon ma'<.e of 

horn. 
Homie, one of the many 

names of the Devil. 
Host, or Hoast, to co^;gh. 
Hostin, r.oughing. 
Hosts, coughs. 
Hotch'd, turne.t topsy-tur- 

vey, blended, inLxfd. 
Houghinagan('jf . foiviicatior > 
Houp, h"-^i:e. 

Housle, dimiji. of house. 
Hove, t'' AXf^^xtj, 10 /.fvell. 



Hov'd, heaved, swelled. 

Howdie, a midlife. 

Howe, hollow , a h'yllow n 

dell. 
Howe-backit svuik iu th* 

back; sp>k3D.of a h rsy, 

&c. 
IIowfF, 8 lanilady, 8 >ioi.«w 

of resort. 
Howk, to dig. 
Ho whit, digged. 
Ilonkin, diggviig. 
Hf.wlet, or Houlct, an ow^ 
Roy, to urge. 
Hoy't, urged. 
Hoyse, a puU upwards. 
Ho}^e, to amble crazily. 
Hughoc, dimin of liu^lt. 
Hunkers, the ham, the h-XiU- 

er part of the thigh. 
Hurcheou, a hc<lgehog ; a 

term of shghc anger. 
Hurdles, thj '.oL/is, ihe crup- 
per. 
Hushion, a cushion, stock- 

ingf fvitkoat feet. 



I', iii 

IcLcn^, an ear ot com. 
I«r-oe, a great-grand- child. 
Ilk, or Ilka, each, every, 
ni-willie, ill-Tij'.tutrcd, laalv 

cious, niggardly. 
Ingine, genius, ingenuity. 
Ingle, Ere, fire-place. 



«tLOSSART. 



5(P 



<'8e, 1 shall v)r will. 
[ther, other, one another. 

J. 

J 1 D, j ade ; also, a familiar 
tEiTTi among countr)-- folks 
for a giddy young girl. 

J/»g, to prick, to pierce. 

Jauk, to dally, to trifle. 

Jn'ikin, trifling, daihTJig. 

Jauntie, dimin. of jaunt. 

Jaup, a jerk of water ; to 
jerk, as agitated water. 

Jaw, coarse raillery ; to pour 
out, to shut, to jerk, as 
water. 

Jillit, a jilt, a giddy girl. 

Jimp, to jump ; slender in 
the M'-aist, handsome. 

Jink, to dodge, to turn a cor- 
ner ; a sudden turning a 
comer. 

Jiriker, one who turns quick- 
ly, a gay sprightly girl, a 

Jinking, dodgijig. [wag. 

Jirk, a jerk. 

Ss\ or Joe, ft sweetheart, a 
favorite. 

Jocteleg, a kind of knile. 

Joiik, to stoop, to bow the 
head. 

low ; To jow, a verb which 
includes both the swing- 
ing r\otion and pealing 
Bound of a large bell 

ftmdie, to jus tie. 



K. 

Kab, a daw. 

Kail, colewort, a kind o! 
broth. 

Kail-runt, the stem of cole- 
wort. 

Kain, fowls, &c., paid as ren^ 
by a fiumer. 

Kaiugh, carking anxiety. 

Kebars, rafters. 

Kebbuck, a cheese. 

Keek, a peep ; to peep. 

Kelpies, a sort of miscmev 
ous spiiits, said to hauni 
fords and ferries at night, 
especially in storms 

Ken, to know. 

Ken'd, or Kent, knew. 

Kinnin, a small matter. 

Kenspeckle, well known. 

Ket, matted, hairy ; a fiee<« 
of wool. 

Kilt, to truss up the clothes, 

Kimmer, a young girl, a gos- 
sip. 

Kin, kindred. 

Kin', kind. 

King's-hood, a certain parf 
of the entrails of an or. 

Kintra, coxmtry. )&»-. 

Kintra-cooac a countxj 
stallion. 

Kim, the harvest supper, a 
chum ; to chum. 

Kirsen, to christen, or hsn. 
tize 



508 



OLOSSAIIT. 



Kist, a clicst. a shop counter 
Kitchen, any thing that is 

eaten with breaH, to servp 

for soup, grav^. &c 
Kit!-, kindred. 
Kittle, to ticklo r tictlish, 

likely. 
Kittiin, a youn^ cat, 
Kiuttle, to cndile. 
Kiuttlin, coddling. 
Knaggip, bke nags or points 

of rocks. i 

Kr.appin-hammer, a hammer 

for breaking stones. j 

Knowe, a small roimd hil- ' 

iock. 
Knurl, a dwar^ 
Kye, c&ws. 

Kyle, a district of Ayrshire. 
Kyte, the belly. 
Kythe, to discover, to show 

one's self. 



Laddie, flimin. of lad. 
r.aggen, the angle between 

the side and bottom of a 

wooden dish. 
Iiaigh, 3w. 
Lairing, wading ard sinking 

in snow. mud. &■", 
fvath, loath, 
uaithfu', bashful, sheepish, 

rr^- .dest. 
' -dland, a native of tl e lov 

lands of Scotlard. 



Lallans, Scottish dialect 

Lambie. dimm. of lamb- 

Lampit, a kind of shell- ii»h. 

lian', land, estate. 

Lane, lone ; My lane, rhj 
lane, &c. 

Lanely, lonely. 

Lang, .long ; To think lang^ 
to long, to weary. 

Lap, did leap. 

Lave, the rest, the remain- 
der, the others. 

Laverock, the lark. 

Lawin, shot, reckoning, bilL 

Lawlan', .Lowland. 

Lea, pasture, ground un- 
ploughed. 

Lea'e, to leave. 

Leal, loyal, true, faithful. 

Tjea-rig, grassy ridge. 

Lear, (])ronounccd lare^] 
learning. 

Lee-lang, live-long. 

Leesome, pleasant. 

Leeze me, a phrt\se of con- 
gratulatory endearment . 1 
am happy in thee, or proud 
of thee. 

Leister, a threo-prongcd itrt 
for striking tisb. • 

Leugh, did laugh. 

Leuk, a look ; to loor.. 

Libbet, gelded. 

Lie'n, lying. 

Lift, sVy. 

Lightly, sneenngly ; to enem 



WLOSSART 



OO^ 



£jUt, a ball9^i, a tune ; to 
sing. 

\aininer, a kept mistress, a 
strampot. 

Limp't, limped, hobbled. 

Link, to trip along. 

fiinkin, tripping. 

I linn, a water-fall, a preci- 
pice. 

Lint, flax *, Lint i' the bell, 
tiax in flower. 

Lintwhite, a linnet. 

Ijippen'd, trusted, put confi- 
dence in. 

Loan, or Loanin, the place 
of milking. 

J^oof, the pabn of the hand. 

Loot, did let. 

Lonvcs, plural of loof. 

Loiui, a fellow, a ragamuifin, 
a woman of easy virtue. 

Loup, jump, leap. 

Lowe, a flame. 

Lowin, flaming. 

Lowrie, abbreviation of- Law- 
rence. 

Lowse, to loose. 

Lows' d, loosed. 

Lug, the ear, a handle. 

liTiggie, a small wooden dish 
with d haj..iie. ■ 

Lum, the chinmey. 

I.iTinch, a large piece of 
cheese, flesh, &c. 

Lunt, a column of smoke; 
to smoke. 

fiTirtia, smoking. 



Lyart, of a mixed- cola* 

gray. 

M. 

Mae, more. 

Mair, more. 

Maist, most, almoat. 

Maistly, mostly. 

Mak, to make. 

Makin, making. 

Mailen, a farm. 

Mallie, Molly. 

'Mang, among. 

Manse, the parsonage house, 
where the minister lives. 

Manteele. a mantle. 

Mark, or Mork, an anciem 
Scottish silver coin, in 
value thirteen pence and 
one-thii'd of a penny ster 
liiig« 

2>lark, marks. [Tliis ana 
several other noims, wliich 
in English require an s to 
form the pliual, are. in 
Scotch, like the words 
sheep, deer, the same 'ti 
both numbers.] 

Mar's year, the year 17 lo. 

Mashlum, or Meslin, mixs-i 
corn. 

;Mask, to mash, as malt,' &c« 
to infuse. 

Maskin-pat, a tea-pot. 

M auk en, a hare. 

Mami, must. 



SIO 



GLOSSARY. 



Mavis, the thrush- 
Maw, to mow. 

Mawin, mowing. 

Meere, a mare. 

Meickle, or Meikle, much 

Melancholious, moiiriilul. 

Melder, corn, or grain of any 
kind, sent to the mill to be 
ground. 

5IeU, to meddle; also, a 
mallet for pounding bar- 
ley in a stone trough. 

Melvie, to soil A\ith meal. 

Men', to amend, to reform, 
to change from worse to 
better, 

Mense, good manners, deco- 
rum. 

Menseless, ill bred, rude, im- 
pudent. 

Messin, a small dog. 

Midden, a dung-hill. 

Midden-creels, baskets for 
holding dung. 

Midden-hole, a gutter at the 
bottom of a dunghill. 

Mid, prim, affectedly meek. 

Min', mind, remembrance. 

Mind't, mind it, resolved, in- 
tending. 

Minnie, mother, dam. 

Mirk, iark. 

Mirkest, darkest. j 

Misca', to abuse, to call 

Misca'd, abused. [names. 

Mislear'd, mlsehaevous, un- 
uranrerly. i 



Misteuk, mistook. 
Mither, a mother. 
MLxtie-maxtie, confusedij 

mixed. 
Moil, lab«r. 
Moistify, to moisten. 
Monie, or Mony, many. 
Moop, to nibble, as a sheep, 
Moorlan', of or Lclongins ta 

moors. 
Morn, the next day, to-mor 

row. 
Mottie, full of mutes or smaE 

particles of matter. 
Mou, the mouth. 
Moudiewovt, a niole, 
Mousie, dimin. of mous^ 
Muckle, or Mickle, great, 

big, much. 
Music, dimin. of miis'i. 
Muslin-kiul, broth composed 

simply of \\'ater, shelled 

barley, and greens. 
Mutclikin, an English pint. 
Mysel', myself. 

N. 

Na, no, not, nor. 
Nae, no, not any. 
Naething, or Naithing, to 

thing, 
Naig, a horse, 
Nane, none. 

Nappy, ale ; to oe tipsy. 
Natch, to lay hold of rj<> 

lentlv.> 



FLOSSART. 



511 



Neelor, a neighbor. 

Negleckit, neglected. 

Ncuk, nook. 

Niest, next in order, or next 
in time. 

Nieve, the fist. 

Nievetu', a handful, a small 
quantity. 

NiefFer, an exchange ; to ex- 
change, to barter. 

Niger, a negro. 

Nino-tailed-cat, a hangman's 
whip. 

Nit, a nut. 

Norland, of or belonging to 
tlie norm. 

Notic'i. noticed, observed. 

Nowtc, Diack cattle. 

O. 

O', of. 

Ochils, name of mountains. 

O haith ! O faith ! an oath. 

Onie, or Ony, any. 

Or is often used for ere, be- 
fore. 

Orra, superfluous, unwanted. 

O't, of It. 

Oightlins, in the least de- 
gree. 

Ourie, shiverirg, drooping. 

Oursel', or Oursels, our- 
selves. 

Sutlers, cattle not housed. 

Owre, over, too. 

D^vre-hip, a way of fetching 



a blow with a hammrt 
over the arm. 

P. 

Pack, intimate, familiar 
twelve stone of wool. 

Paidel, to paddle, to play ui 
water. 

Painch, the paunch. 

Paitrick, a partridge. 

Pang, to cram. 

Parle, speech. 

Parritch, oat-meal pudding, 
a well-known Scotch dish, 

Pat, did put ; a pot. 

Pattle, or Pettle, a plough- 
staff. 

Paughty, proud, haughty. 

Pawky, or PaAvkie, cunning, 
sly. 

Pay't, paid, beat. 

Pech, to fetch the breath 
short, as in an asthma. 

Pechan, the crop, the sto 
mach. 

PeeHn, peeling. 

Pet, a domesticated sheep, i 
great favorite. 

Pettle, to cherish ; a plougk 
staff. 

Philabegs, short petticoats, 
worn by Highlandmen. 

Phraise, fair speeches, flat- 
tery; to flatter,, to w'>ee> 
die. 

Phraisin, flattery. 



519 



GLOSSART. 



Pibi-och, a Highland war- 
song, adapted to the bag- 
pipe. 

Pickle, a small quantity. 

Pin?, pain, uneasiness. 

Fit, to put. 

Pljicard, a public proclama- 
tion. 

riack, an old Scotch coin, 
the third part of a Scotch 
penny, twelve of which 
make an English peruiy. 

Plackless, penniless, without 
money. 

Plaid, an outer loose gar- 
ment. 

Platie, dimin. of plate. 

Pleugh, or Plew, a plough. 

PUskie, a tris.k, a miscliief. 

Pock, a bag, a small sack. 

Poind, to seize on cattle, or 
take the goods, as the laws 
of Scotland allow, for rent. 

Poortith, poverty, indigence. 

Pou, to pull. 

Pouch, a pocket. 

Pouchie, dimin. of pouth. 

I'Duk, to pluck. 

Pouse, to push, to penetrate. 

l^oussie, a hare, a cat. 

Pout, a poult, a chick. 

Pouti did pull. 

Fouther, or Powther, pow- 
der. 

Pouthers', like powder. 

Pow, the head, the skull. 

Poi^-nie, a littls horse. 



Preen, a pin, a pointed slor. 

piece of \\are. 
Prent, print. 
Prie, to taste. 
Prie'd, tasted. 
Prief, proof. 

Prig, to cheapen, to ii^iput* 
Priggin, cheapening. 
Primsie, demure, precise. 
Propone, to lay down, to pro- 



Provost, the first magistrate 
of a royal borough, an- 
swering to Lord Mayor in 
England. 

Provoses, plural of Provost. 

Pund, pound, pounls. 

Pyle ; A pyle o' cau', a sin- 
gle grain of chaff. 

Q. 

QuAK, to quake. 
Quat, quit. 

Quey, a cow from one to two 
years old, 

R. 

Ragweed, herb ragwort. 
Raible, to rattle nonsenaa. 

to talk foohslily. 
Rair, to roar. 
Raize, to madden, to m 

Hame. 
Ram-feezl'd, fatigued, otct 

spread. 



GLOSSART. 



5ir 



Rani-stam, thoughtless, for- 
ward. 

Randie, turbulent, irregular, 
imsettled. 

Rantie, merry^ cheerful, jo- 
vial. 

H tploch, properly a coarse 
cloth, but used as an ad- 
JDctiye for coarse. 

Rfirely, excellently, very 
well. 

Rash, a rush. 

Rash- buss, a bush of rushes. 

Rataa, a throb, a pulsation. 

Ratton, a rat. 

Raucle, jash, stout, fear- 
less. 

Raught, reached. 

Raw, a row. 

Rax. to stretch. 

Rax d, stretched, levied. 

Ream, cream ; to cream. 

Rcamin, brimful, frothing. 

Reave, rove. 

Reck, to heed. 

Rede; counsel ; to counsel. 

Red-Avat-shod, walking in 
blood over the shoe-tops. 

Rod wild, stark-mad. 

Rse, hall- drunk, fuddled. 

Reek, smoke ; to smoke. 

R"!t>ki)i, smoking. 

lleckit, smoked, smoky. 

Remead, remedy, alterna- 
tive. 

.iequite, required. 

ltest» to stand restive. 



Restit, stood restive, stujit*Hlj 
withered. 

E,estriked, restricted, 

E,ew, repetn. 

Eief, or Reef, plenty. 

Rief-randies, sturdy beggftja 

Rig, a ridge. 

Rin, to rvm, to melt. 

Rink, the course of the 
stones ; a term in curlino 
on the ice. 

Rinnin, running. 

Ripp, a handful of un- 
thrashed corn. 

Riskit, made a noise like tho 
tearing of roots. 

Rockin, a term derived from 
those primitive times, 
when neighbors met al- 
ternately at one another'? 
houses, to spend the even- 
ing ; the females, that 
they might enjoy the gos- 
sip, without the imputa- 
tion of idleness, brought 
their rocks, or distafl's, 
■with them. 

Rood, stands likewise for the 
plural roods. 

Roon, a shred. 

Roose, to praise, to com- 
mend ; applause. 

Roun, roxmd, in the circle ni 
neighborhood. 

Roupet, hoarse as with « 
cold. 

Routhie, plentiful. 



514 



ULOSSARY. 



How, tx) roll, to wrap. 
Row't, rolled, wrapped. 
Rowtc, to low, to bellow. 
Ro\\ th, or Routh, plenty. 
Row tin, lowmg. 
Rozet, rosin. 
Rimg, a cudgel. 
Runkled, ^vTinkled. 
Runt, the stem of colewort 

or cabbage. 
Ruth, a woman s name, the 

book so called, sorrow. 



S. 

Sae, so. 

Soft, soft. 

Sair, to serve ; a sore. 

Sairly, or Sairlie, sorely. 

Sair't, served. 

Sark, a shirt. 

Sarkit, proAaded in ghirts. 

Saugh, the willow. 

Saul, soul.- 

Saumont, salmon. 

Saunt, a saint. 

Saut, salt. 

Saw l-o sow. 

Sawin, sowing 

Sax, six. [juj')"". 

Scaith, to damage, to jvyrr • 

Scar, to scare ; a scar. 

Scaud, to scald. 

Scauld, to sco^/l. 

8*icne, a Vino of Vesd . 

Bconner, f XrtVjxg ; to 



Scraich, to scream as a hen 
partridge, &v.. 

Screed, to tear ; a rent. 

Scrieve, to glide swiftl) 
along. 

Scrievin, gleesomely, swiftly 

Scrimp, to scant. 

Scrimpet, did scant ; scanty. 

See'd, did see. 

Seizin, seizing. 

Sel', self; A body's ae/', onoi 
self alone. 

Sell't, did sell. 

Sen', to send. 

Sen't, I, he, or she sent, of 
did send ; sent it, 

Servan', serraiit. 

Session, an in/crior spiritual 
court, of the kirk of Scot- 
land, consisting of an as- 
sembi;f of elders, who sit 
in jiy'igmeut, and pro- 
nouTj/, 4 sentence on Chris- 
tian '. ehnquents. 

Settliii settling ; To get t 
seW, af'tQ be fi'iglitcned 
in*' quietness. 

37t7 : Sets off, goes away. 

fjbr/ikVd, distorted, deform- 
f,d. 

I-Viaird, a shred, a shard. 

Shangan, a stick cleft at one 
end, for putting the tail of 
a dog, &c., into, by way oi 
mischief, or to frighten 
him away. 

Shave, a trick, any thiaf 



I-. 



GLOSSARY. 



51« 



done lo cheat jo 'osely or 
to divert. 

Shaver, a humoroiu wag, a 
harber. 

Shavie dimin. of sliave. 

Shaw, to show : a small 
•wood in a hoUo-w place. 

Shearer, a reaper, one em- 
ployed ill cutting down 
com. 

81ieen, bright, sliining. 

Slieep-shank ; To tiibik one's 
self nae sheep-shank, to be 
conceited. 

Sherra-moor, ShcrifF-m->or, 
the field -where the fa- 
mous battle of that n?) ne 
was fought in the rebell on 
of 17L5. 

Sheugh, a ditch, a trenc)i, a 

Shiel, a shed. [shjc5. 

Shill. shrill. 

Shog, a shock, a push off xt 
one side. 

Shool, a shovel. 

Shoon, shoes. 

Shore, to offer, to give, to 
threaten. 

Shor'd, offered. 

Sliouther, the shoulder. 

Sic, such. 

SicKcr, sure, steady. 

Sidelins, sidelong, slanting. 

Siller, silver, money. 

Simmer, a summer. 

Signet, singed, scorched, 
iespicsble. 



Sin, a son. 

Sin', since. 

Suiny, sunny. 

Sinsyne, since. 

Skaith. See Scaith. 

Skellum, a worthless fellow. 

Skelp, to strike, to slap, t« 
walk -with a smart trip- 
ping step ; a smart stroke 

Skelpi-limmer, a technical 
term in female scolding. 

Skelpin, stepping, walking, 
eager, warm. 

Skiegh, or Skeigh, proxhd, 
nice, high-mettled. 

Skiiiklin, a small portion. 

Skirl, to shriek, to cry shrU- 

Skirling, shrieking, crying. 

Skii-l't, shrieked. 

Sklent, slant ; to run aslant, 

to deviate from truth. 
Sklented, ran, or hit in an 

oblique direction. 
Skreigh, a scream ; to 

scream. 
Skyrin, shining, making ■ 

great show. 
Skyte, force, \^olenc.e. 
Slade, did slide. 
Slae, a sloe. 
Slap, a gate, a breach in v 

fence. 
Slaw, slow. 
Slee, sly. 
Sleest, slyest. 
Sleekit, sleek, sly, cunning. 



516 



OLOSSART. 



Sliddery, slij/pery. 

SljTJe, to fall over, as a wet 
furrow from the plough. 

Sljyct, fell. 

Sma', smaU. 

Sinedclura, dust, powder, 
mettle, sense. 

Smidtly, a smithy. 

Smoor. to smother. 

Smo<->r'd, smothered. 

Smoutie, smutty, obscene, 
ugly. 

Smytrie, a numerous collec- 
tion of small individuals. 

Shaking, the champing of a 
dog's teeth when he aims 
at his prey. 

Snapper, stumble. 

Snash, abuse, Bilhngsgate. 

Snaw, snow ; to snow. 

Snaw-broo, melted snow. 

Snawie, snowie. 

Sneck, latch of a door. 

Sned, to lop, to cut off. 

Snecshin, snufF. 

'^neeshin-mill, a snufF-box. 

Snell, bitter, biting. 

Bnick- drawing, thick con- 
triving. 

Snick, the latchet of a 
door. 

Bnool, one whose spirit is 
broken with oppressive 
slavery ; to submit tamely, 
to sneak, to oppress. 

Snoove, to go smoothly and 
«»->nstantly, to sneak. 



Snowk, to scent or stomS, at 
a dog, horse, &c. 

Snowkit, scented, snuffed. 

Sodger, a soldier. 

Sonsie, having sweet engag- 
ing looks, lucky, jolly. 

Soom, to swim. 

Sooth, truth, a petty oatli. 

Sough, a sigh, a sound djnug 
on the ear. 

Souple, flexible, swif*,. 

Souter, a shoemaker. 

Sowens, a dish made of oat 
meal, the seeds of oat- 
meal soured, &c., boiled up 
till they make an agreea- 
ble pudding. 

Sowp, a spoonful, a smal 
quantity of any thing li- 
qvud. 

Sowth, to try over a tune 
with a low whistle. 

Sowther, solder ; to solder 
to cement. 

Spae, to prophesy, to diMine 

Spairge, to dash. Id soil %« 
with mire. 

Spaul, a limb. 

Spavie, the spavin. 

Spaviet, having the spavin. 

Speat, or Spate, a sweeping 
torrent, after rain or thaw 

Speel, to chmb. 

Speet, to spit, to thrua/ 
through. 

Spence, the country parlor 

Spier, to ask, to inquire 



GLOSSAKir. 



51' 



Bpier't, inq-oired. 
Splatter, a splutter ; to splut- 
ter. 

Spleuchan, a tobacco-pouch. 
Splore, a frolic, a noise, a 

riot. 
Sprattle, to scramblo 
Spieckled, spotted, spsckled, 

clambered. 
Spring, a quick air in music, 

a Scottish reel. 
Si)rit, a tough-rooted plant, 

something like rushes. 
Sprittle, full of spirits. 
Spunk, fire, mettle, wit. 
Spunkie, nettlesome, fiery ; 

will-o'-wisp, or ignis fatu- 

us. 
"^purtle, a stick used in mak- 
ing oat-meal pudding, or 

porridge, a notable Scotch 

dish. 
Squad, a crew, a party. 
Scjuatter, to flutter in water, 

{IS a wild duck, &c. 
Squattle, to sprawl, to strug- 
, gle. 
Squeel, a scream, a screech ; 

to scream. 
Rtacher, to stagger. 
Stack, a rick of com, hay, 

&c. 
Stiiggie, dimin. of stag. 
Stalwart, strong, stoui. 
Stiui', to stand. 
Stau't, did stand. 
Stanc, a stone. 



Stank, did stink ; a poi 1 ol 
standing water 

Stap. stop. 

Stark, stour. 

Startle, to run, as cattle 
stung by the gad-fly. 

Stauk.in, stalking, walkiit|| 
with a stately step. 

Staumrel, a blockhead ; half- 
witted. 

Staw, did steal, to surfeit. 

Stech, to cram the belly. 

Stechin, cramming. 

Steek, to shut ; a stick. 

Steer, to molest, to stir. 

Steeve, firm, compacted. 

Stell, a still. 

Sten, to rear, as a horse. 

Stcn't, reared. 

Stents, tribute, dues of any 
kind. 

Stey, steep. 

Steyest, steepest. 

Stibble, stubble. 

Stibble-rig, the reaper in 
harvest who takes the 
lead. 

Stick an' -stow, totally, alto- 
gether. 

Stilt, a crutch ; to halt, to 
limp. 

Stimpart, the eighth part ol 
a Winchester bushel. 

Stirk, a com- or bullock i 
year old. 

Stock, a plant or root of co » 
wart, cabbage, «:o. 



M8 



GLOSSAKY. 



Btockii), stocking ; Throwing j 
the stockin ; when the 
bride and bridegroom are 
put into bed, and the can- 
dle out, the former throws 
a stocking at random a- 
mong the company, and 
the person whom it strikes 
is the next that will be 
married. 

Stooked, made up in shocks, 
as com. 

Stoor, sounding hollow, 
strong, and hoarse. 

Slot, an ox. 

Stoup, or StoAvp, a kind of 
jug, or dish, with a han- 
dle. 

Stoure, dust, more particu- 
larly dust in motion. 

Stowlins, by stealth. 

Stown, stolen. 

Stoyte, to stumble. 

Strack, did strike. 

Strae, straw; To die a fair 
strac death, to die in bed. 

Straik, did strike. 

Straikit, stroked. 

Strappan, tall and handsome. 

Straught, straight. 

Streek, stretched ; to stretch. 

Striddle, to straddle. 

Stroan, to spout, to piss. 

Strunt, spiiituous liquor of 
any kind i to walk stiirdi- 

ly- 

Btudd;r, mi anvil. 



Stimipie, dimin. of stump. 

Stuff, com or pulse of an 5 
kind. 

Sturt, troubled ; tx) moles J; 

Sturtin, frighted. 

Sucker, sugar. 

Sud, should. 

Sugh, the continu&d rush- 
ing noise of wind or wa- 
ter. 

Suthron, southern ; an old 
name for the English na- 
tion. 

Swaird, sward. 

Swall'd, swelled- 

Swankie, or Swanker, a tight 
strapping youm; t^Uow 01 

girl- 
Swap, an exchange ; to bar- 
ter. 
Swarf, swoon. 
Swat, did sweat. 
Swatch, a sample. 
Swats, drink, good ale. 
Sweatin, sweating. 
Sweer, lazy, averse ; Dead' 

sweer, extremely averse. . 
Swoor, swore, did swear. 
S^vinge, to beat, to strike, to 

whip. 
Swivl, a curve, an eddying 

blast, or pool, a knot in 

wood. 
Swirlie, knaggy, full of 

knots. 
SA\'ith ! get away ! 
S wither, to hesitate in choio«ii 



OLOSSARY. 



Sli 



an irresoluce wavering ui 
choice. 
Byne, since, ago, then. 

T. 

Tackets, a kind of nails for 
driving into the heels of 
shoes. 

Tae, a loe ; Thi-ee-/aerf, hav- 
ing three prongs. 

Tairge, to examine ; a tar- 
get. 

Tak, to take. 

Takin, takijig. 

Tamtallan, the name of a 
mountain. 

Tangle, a sea- weed. 

Tap, the top. 

Tapeless, heedless, foolish. 

Tarrow, to murmur at one's 
allowance. 

Tarrow' t, murmured. 

Tarry-breeks, a sailor. 

Tartan, a kind of cloth 
checkered with stripes of 
various colors. 

Tauld, or Tald, told. 

Taupie, a foolish, thoughtless 
young person. 

lauted, or Tautie, matted 
together; spoken of liair 
or wool. 

ra\iv'ie, tnat allows itself 
peaceably to be handled; 
spoken of a horse, cow, &c. 

Toat a small quantity. 



Tedding, spreading after thA 

mower. 
Ten-hours-bite, a slight feed 

to the horses, while in the 

yoke, in the forenoon. 
Tent, a field pulpit, heed, 

caution ; to take heed. 
Tentie, heedful, cautioiu, 

wary. 
Tentless, heedless. 
Teugh, tough. 
Thack, thatch; Thack an* 

rape, clothing, necessa- 
ries. 
Thae, these. 
Thairms, small guts, fiddle* 

strings. 
Thankit, thanked. 
Theekit, thatched. 
Thegither, together. 
Themsel', themselves. 
Thick, intimate, familiar. 
Thieveless, cold, dry, spited; 

spoken of a person's de« 

meanor. 
Thir, these. 
Thirl, to thrill. 
Thirled, thrilled, vibrated. 
Thole, to suffer, to endure. 
Tliowe, a thaw ; to thaw. 
Thowless, slack, lazy. 
Thrang, to throng ; a crowd. 
Thrapple, throat, windpipe. 
Thraw, to sprain, to twisty 

to contradict. 
Thrawin, twisting, ic. 
Thrawn, sprained, twisted 



5120 



GLOSSARY. 



contradicted ; contradic- 
tion. 

Fhreap, to maintain by dint 
of assertion. 

rhreshin, thrashing. 

Threteen, thii-teen. 

rhristle, thistle. 

Through, to go on with, to 
make out. 

Throuther, pell-mell, confus- 
edly. 

Thud, to make a loud inter- 
mittent noise ; a blow pro- 
ducing a dull, heavy 
sound. 

■Phumpit, thumped. 

Thysel', thyself. 

Till't, to it. 

Timmer, timber. 

Timmer-propt, propped with 
timber. 

Tine, to lose. 

Tint, lost ; Tint the gate, lost 
the way. 

Tinkler, a tinker. 

rip, a ram. 

rippence, two-pence. 

Tiri, to make a slight noise, 
to uncover. 

Tirlin, tmcovering. 

Tither, the other. 

Tittle, to whisper. 

rittUng, whispering. 

Tocher, marriage portion. 

Tod, a fox. 

Coddle, to totter, like the 
walk of a child. 



Toddlin, totisring, 

Toom, empty. 

Toop, a ram. 

Toun, a hamlet, t farm* 
house. 

Tout, the blast of a horn oi 
trumpet ; to blow a hoi a, 
&c. 

Touzie, rough, shaggy. 

Tow, a rope. 

Towmond, a twelvemonth. 

Toy, a very old fashion of f» 
male head-dress. 

Toyte, to totter, like old age. 

Trams, shafts. 

Transmogrify' d, transmigra- 
ted, metamorphosed. 

Trashtrie, trash. 

Trews, trowsers. 

Trickie, full of tricks, play- 
ful. 

Trig, spruce, neat. 

Trimly, excellently. 

Trow, to believe. 

Trowth, truth, a petty oath 

Trj'sted, appointed ; To 
tryste, to make an ap- 
pointment. 

Try't, tried. 

Tug, raw hide, of which is 
old times ploxigh-'iracM 
wer3 frequently made. 

Tulzie, a quarrel ; to quar 
rel, to fight. 

Twa, two. 

TAva-three. a few. 

'Twad, it would 



(rr-OSSARV. 



5?i 



Twal, twelve ; Tioa .cimy- 
worth, a small (iuuu'"ity, a 
penri) Avorlh. 

l'v\-in, to part. 

Tjke, a dog 

U. 

Dnco, strange, uncouth, 
very, very great, prodig- 
ious. 

Uncos, news. 

Unfauld, unfold. 

Unkonn'd, unknown. 

Unsicker, unsure, un- 
steady. 

L'nskaith'd, undamaged, un- 
hurt. 

Unweeting, unwitting, uu- 
knoAving. 

Upo*, upon. 

Urchin, a hedgehog. 



Vaj*'rin, vapv/ing, bullying, 

bragging. 
Vauntie, vain, proud. 
Vera, very. 
Virl, a nng round a colunm. 



Wk\ walL 
Ws'b, walls. 
Wftbster, a weave* 



Wad, would ; to bet ; & bet, 

a pledge. 
Wadna, would not, 
Wae, woe; sorrowful. 
Wacsucks ! or Waes me I 

alas ! O the jiity ! 
Waft, the cross thread that 

o-oes from the shuttle 

through the web, woof, 
Waifu', wailing. 
Wair, to lay out, to expend. 
Wale, choice : to choose. 
Wal'd, chose, chosen. 
Walie, ample, large, jolly ; 

also, an interjection of dis 

tress. 
Wame, the belly. 
Wamefou, a belly-full. 
Wanchancie, unlucky, ill 

omened, inauspicious. 
Wanrestfu', restless, uneasy. 
Wark, worK. 
Wark-lume, a tool to work 

with. 
Warl, or Warld, world. 
Wai'lock, a Avizard. 
Warly, worldly, eager on 

-massing wealth. 
"Wnrran, a warrant ; to wai - 

lant. 
Warst, worst. 

Warstl'd, or Warsl'd, wres- 
tled. 
Wastrie, prodigality. 
^Vat, wet ; I uaty 1 wot, 

I know. 
Water-biose, brose made ol 



$22 



QLOSSARY. 



rneal and wator simply, 

uithout the addition of 

milk, butter, Sec. 
SVattle, a t^^'ig, a wand. 
Wauble. to SAving, to reel. 
'.Vaught, a draught. 
Wtiukit, thickened, as ful- 

lere dc cloth. 
Waukrife, not apt to sleep. 
Waur, worse ; to worst. 
Waur't, worsted. 
Wean, or Weanie, a child. 
^ 'earie, or "Weary ; Monie a 

icsary body, many a differ- 
ent person. 
Weaeon, weasand. 
V\''eavin5 the stocking. See 

Throwing the stocking, 

(page 518.) 
Wee, little. 

Wee thirgs» livtle ones. 
Wee bit» a aia^W mattei. 
Weel, -^-ell. 
Weelfare, welfare. 
Weet, rain, wetness. 
Weii-d, fate. 
We'se, we shalL 
Wha, who. 
Whaizle, to wheeze. 
VVhalpit, whelped, brought 

forth. 
\V>iang, a leathern string, a 

piece of cheese, bread, &c. ; 

to give the strappado. 
Whare, where. 
Whare'er, wherever. 
Whfvse. whose. 



Whatreck, nevertheless. 

Whaup, the curlew, a kind 
of water-fowl. 

Wheep, to fly nimbly, to 
jerk ; Penny- wheep, small- 
beer. 

"Whid, the motion of a hai« 
rmuiing but not flighted, 
a lie. 

Whiddcn, running, as a har« 
or coney. 

"Whigmeleeries, wliims, fan- 
cies, crotchets, 

^Vhingin, crying, complain- 
ing, fretting. 

WhirUgigums, useless orna- 
ments, trifling appendages 

Whirrin', whirring ; the 
sound made by the flight 
of the partridge, &c. 

Whisht, silence ; To hold 
one's whisht, to be silent 

"Whisk, to sweep, to lash. 

Whiskin, large, sweeping. 

Whiskit, lashed. 

Whissle, a whistle ; to whis- 
tle. 

Whitter, a hearty draugbt 
of liquor. 

Wh^vUistane, a whinstone. 

Why lees wliiles, sometime*. 

Wi', mth. 

Wick, to strike a stone in an 
oblique direction; a term 
in curling. 

Wicker, wiUo w, (tk^ 8rj<UklIei 



OLOBSART. 



5»b 



Widdiefu', wrathful, angry, 
raging ; one deserving the 
gallows. 

W^'iddle, struggle, bustle, ef- 
fort. 

VViel, a small whirlpool. 

Wifie, a diminutive or en- 
dearing term for ^\^fe. 

VVilfu', willing, full of 
wiU. 

Willyart, bashful, reserved, 
timid. 

Wimple, to meander, to run 
very irregularly. 

Winipl't, meandered. 

Wimplin, waving, meander- 
ing. 

Win, to wind, to winnow. 

Win', wind. 

Win's, winds. 

Win't, winded, as a bottom 
of yam. 

Winn a, will not. 

Winnock, a window. 

Winsome, hearty, vaunted, 

gay. 

Wintle, a staggering motion ; 
to stagger, to reel. 

Winze, an oath. 

Wiss, to wish, to have a 
strong desire. 

Withouten, without. 

Witless, simple, easily im- 
posed on. 

Wizen' d, liide-bound, dried, 
shrunk. 



Wonner, a wonder, a coa 
temptuous appellation. 

Wons, dwells, resides. 

Woo', wool. 

Woo, to court, to make lo\ e 
to. 

Woddie, a rope, more prop- 
erly one made of withe* 
or willows, a halter, a gal- 
lows. 

Wooer-hab. the garter knot- 
ted below the knee with » 
couple of loops. 

Wordy, worthy. 

Worset, worsted. 

Wow ! an exclamation oi 
pleasure or wonder. 

Wrack, to tease, to vex. 

Wraith, a spirit, a ghost, an 
apparition exactly likn a 
living person, whosa ap- 
pearance is said to forbode 
the person's approaching 
death. 

Wrang, wrong i to wrong, 
to injure. 

Wreeth, a drifted heap of 
snow. 

Writers, attomies, lawyers. 

Wud, mad, distracted, wild. 

Wumble, a wimble, an in- 
strument for boring holes. 

Wyle, beguile. 

Wyliecoat, a flannel vest. 

Wyte, blame ; to blame, U 
accuse. 



SLOfteAftT. 



£ B ; this pronoun is fre- 
quently used tor thou. 

Vear is used both for singu- 
lar and plural years. 

ifearlings, born in the same 
year, coevals. 

ifeams, longs much, desires 
earnestly. 

Fell, barren, that gives no 
milk. 

terk« to lash, to strike, to 



t erKit, jerked, luhM, 

struck. 
Yestreen, yesternight, tkv« 

night before. 
Yett, a gate, such as i* 

usually at the entranc* 

into a farm-yard or field. 
YiU, ale. 
Yird, earth- 

Yokrn, yoking ; a bout 
Yont, beyond. 
Yoursel', yourself. 
Yowe, an ewe. 
Yowie, dimin. of yrw^ 
Yule. ChristmM 



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